Midnight Snack
by Rallalon
Summary: It's strange how a simple action can change so much. A blue haired man wants to cook. A pink haired girl decides to cover for him. A joyful relationship with a tragic ending: RegalAlicia.
1. The Rearranger

2/26/05 The idea wouldn't leave me alone. If anyone asks, I'm pointing to that. And I now understand those people who wonder in their author notes why they're starting yet _anther_ fic when they can barely manage the ones they have already; I just joined their ranks.

Any comments with thought are welcome and more helpful than you probably realize. Any comments with curse words are ignored.

**Disclaimer:**Rallalon does not own Tales of Symphonia or any of its characters, items or locations.

.-.-.-.-.-.

"Once I can stand, four will test me, but this time is the last straw! Who's been on clean-up duty for the past week?"

A girl of nearly thirteen years, her pink hair tied back in two pigtails, looked up from the vegetables she was chopping. "Ah… me?" she offered somewhat timidly. What had she done? Usually the man referred to simply as "Cook" would at least put down whatever sharp utensil he happened to be holding before letting his temper loose.

Instead of increasing the intensity of the chef's annoyance, her confession cut the man's momentum. "No, really, who?"

"Me, sir."

"Combatir, you've been with us for four years now: you know where to put the pans away and how to clean them."

"Yes, sir."

"So who are you hiding?" He made an obvious attempt to make himself look less threatening, the effect mostly ruined by the peeler he had yet to put down. The next words the insanely organized chef gritted out were made with obvious effort: "It's. Not. That. Big. Of. A. Deal."

"Sir, Alicia _is_ on clean-up duty this week," Melissa, one of the older helpers, pointed out.

An eyebrow rose. The gesture of doom. "_Just_ Combatir? _Just_ our pre-teen little friend?"

"As in, we wash, I dry, she puts away," another woman hurriedly amended.

Cook considered this for a moment before announcing loudly to his kitchen staff, "I'm sure you all know what this means then." He paused, evidently waiting for himself to be proven right or for someone else to get indignant over whatever it was that he found so outrageous. "Someone else," he said slowly and with emphasis, "is using our kitchen."

Several people humored him with offended sounds.

"_This_ I will not tolerate! A kitchen is the sanctuary of a cook! It should not be violated in such a manner! This-"

"So, Ali," Melissa said quietly in a practiced whisper, "do you think the President's son is really back this time?"

Chopping again and nodding along to whatever the chef was saying, Alicia shrugged. "If Cook's _this_ riled up over some pots and pans being put away in the wrong place, I guess. He'll want to impress- What, you don't think so?"

Melissa shook her head. "Cook hates him. Picky eater or something. Don't look at me like that. Cook's good, but he's not _that_ good. And if President Junior's really been 'studying' in Meltokio, odds are that he's had some pretty good stuff. Veggies done?"

She nodded before pointing out, "Sybak, too." Both knew that it was how she had learned about the opportunity for her current job here.

"Oh yeah. I'd nearly forgotten about that. Hey, slower on the adding; you don't have to dump them all in at once."

Alicia nodded once more, lessening the amount she was adding to the soup at a time. "But what do you mean 'if'?"

"There's always going to be rumors, you know."

"Yeah, I guess so."

"You guess or you know?" Cook suddenly demanded of her, forcing her to wonder where his speech had gone off to.

"I… know?"

"Now _that's_ dedication! Thank you, Combatir."

Once she decided that Cook was out of earshot, she asked the question. "What just happened?"

"You volunteered to stake out the kitchen and wait for the 'Rearranger'."

"Oh."

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.

A stake out wasn't as exciting as she'd pictured. Of course, Alicia had never pictured staking out a kitchen so that might have been part of it tonight. They'd narrowed the time down between after eleven at night and before three-thirty in the morning, leaving her with four and a half hours of kitchen watching. In the dark, as a light would alert him to someone being there. At least Cook was letting her sleep in tomorrow for her, er, service to the cause and that was always a treat.

Truthfully, she had to wonder about the "Rearranger". Even if there was someone sneaking into the kitchens, they couldn't be doing it just to rearrange pots and utensils. Odds were they were cooking, though why they would was still a mystery.

It would be a good idea to check the pantries, Alicia decided around one in the morning. Though it would be hard to tell by looking at amounts of what was still there (they did cook for all of the Lazereno Company, after all; that was a lot of ingredients to keep track of), seeing if anything had been obviously moved might be possible. That, and it would give the incredibly bored girl something to do.

She was squinting in one of the larger pantries when she heard it.

Footsteps. Heavy footsteps.

The kitchen light clicked on.

Holding her breath, Alicia tip-toed to the door and peeked out, catching a glimpse of a man's back, before softly closing the door, making sure it was all the way shut before slowly releasing the handle.

That was the plan anyway. 

She kept watching him. A decently dressed man, his class wasn't obvious though she could assume his age between sixteen and twenty. He moved with confidence, as if he belonged there instead of being the trespasser he was. He didn't even look out of place there; in fact, he seemed the opposite. No fear of being caught was in him. In fact, he looked . . . content, happy even. When he paused, it was from being in thought. Even looking at him from behind, she could tell he had one hand holding his chin, probably debating what dish he wanted to cook. There was something about the idea of him that made her smile, that someone who was too afraid to test their skills in front of people during the day would perform so for the dark.

Now she was just being silly. In the way she'd meant to do it before, she closed the door.

It was only afterwards when she realized the problem.

Were he there to cook as he obviously was, he'd come into her hiding place. She'd be found. For some reason, though she had every right to be there and he none, she found the thought highly embarrassing.

Footsteps approaching. Closer, closer. The Rearranger paused outside the door.

And went on to the next pantry.

Alicia breathed a silent sigh of relief. Why, she wasn't sure. She was supposed to be demanding to know what he was doing here and how he got in; she shouldn't be hiding!

Yet she stood there, waiting. She could just clean up afterwards and no one would be the wiser. Yes, she'd do that. Truth be told, she was a little . . . scared of showing herself and, well, she didn't want to disturb him. It would just be . . . _rude_.

And she had a description. She would just tell Cook that the Rearranger was tall with blue hair. Yes, that seemed like a good idea.

How long she stood there before going back into one of the corners of the pantry, she couldn't be sure of. Once Alicia was fairly sure she would be mostly out of sight if he _did_ happen to come in, boredom took her. And her pigtails were giving her a tension-headache.

Eventually, the sounds of food being prepared turned into the sounds of food being eaten. There was a content sigh in there somewhere as well. This was soon followed with the noises of whatever-he-had-used being washed. It sounded like he used the old cleaning machine, so that took awhile, maybe ten minutes. Then - oh, she winced at this - the clamor of those pots and pans being put away.

_Clink_! The lights went out.

And finally, heavy footsteps going away, getting quieter and quieter until silence seemed to ring in the air. A long moment passed until she stood from her spot on the floor and walked quietly to the door. She opened it slowly and peeked out.

The kitchen was empty.

She checked the clock on one of the stoves. 2:27 AM. The Rearranger had been there for over an hour.

Ten minutes of carefully putting everything back into its proper place, not just close to it, led her to come to a few conclusions. First, he was cooking only for himself. Two, he'd made some sort of pasta. Three, he was either remembering where things went much better by now or Cook was really in need of therapy. Four…

Four, she really, really wanted to go to bed. A short while later, she did just that.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.

"So, Combatir, how'd it go?"

"Wha- oh that, yeah," Alicia mumbled, still tired enough to be easily confused even after her morning nap. That was why she was having trouble keeping her thoughts straight. Otherwise, of course if it were otherwise, she wouldn't have been thinking about him so, about how he had seemed so generally pleased to be in this very room, about how- how _wonderful_ he'd seemed somehow. But no, that word didn't really fit him, did it? Not as closely as Alicia would've liked, anyway. She couldn't know that after only an hour with him with a closed door between them. It wasn't a bad thing, really, that he was there without permission. It wasn't like he was doing anything bad, just cooking, she was sure that was it.

Of course she wouldn't have been thinking of him had she been fully awake. That would have been silly. She was very tired, after all; a person got silly when they were tired.

"Did you find the Rearranger?" Cook prompted, making it clear she'd been quiet a bit too long. "Nothing was out of place, so did you stop him or did he not come?"

"I-" She shook her head. He _had_ come and she hadn't stopped him.

"I see."

It was a moment before Alicia realized what she had implied.

But she didn't correct him.

.-.-.-.-.-.-.

Quiet. Dark. Restless.

It was a great change from her fatigue earlier in the day. Alicia rolled over in bed, trying to see the other person in the room. "Melissa?"

"…Umm?"

"Melissa?"

"Wha…?"

"I can't sleep."

"…kay, Ali."

Silence.

"I really can't sleep."

"Al_-leeeeeeeeeeeeeee_…"

Melissa. Fun by day. Cranky zombie by night.

Realizing that there would be no help from her roommate, Alicia stared at the small clock on the short table between their beds. 2:27 AM.

Huh.

"Going for a walk."

"G'night, Ali…" she heard as she gently closed the door.

As she walked in the dark, Alicia realized that she'd never gone _to_ the kitchens at this time of morning before. Not alone anyway, she amended. Holiday breakfasts could take forever to prepare and she'd been put on the morning team more than once. There was always a certain someone who was never happy about it when the same was done to her, but that could get pretty funny. In fact, two months ago-

Heavy footsteps.

Alicia backed into a doorway and tried to press herself into the shadows. She was fairly light, so he probably hadn't heard her over his own walking. And if he had then . . . well, she wasn't sure what then, but . . . if he came to inspect, she might see his face at least.

Part of her mind stared at the notion, saying _And__ that makes it better how?_

Finding no better answer than that it would satisfy her curiosity, she held her breath, listening. He was going in the other direction, off towards the main area of the company building. Still, she waited until the silence was as complete as it could be in any building with people living in it.

He was definitely gone now.

And so off the to kitchens she went. Ten minutes later, she was heading back to the room she shared with Melissa. He was getting better, but there were still some mistakes obvious to the trained eye. They were mostly simple things that wouldn't matter to anyone who wasn't obsessive-compulsive, but mistakes all the same. It was also clear that someone had been in there or she was just getting way too into this. And the cleaning machine was being temperamental again. She'd have to keep a close eye on it, more so than usual.

"…Where'd ja go, Ali…?"

"For a walk. Go back to sleep."

"…kay."

.-.-.-.-.-.

It fell into a sort of a pattern after that. Sometime around two-thirty in the morning, Alicia would wake up and be unable to go back to sleep, for some reason worried that the Rearranger was going to get caught. She would then creep down to the kitchen, once she told Melissa that the early-morning walks were really helping or rearranged the pillow and sheets on her bed depending on the older girl's state of consciousness. From there, it was look around, correct, come back, and sleep. Fairly simple.

In a strange way, she felt that she got to know him. It was clear that he was gradually working up to longer and more complex recipes, meaning that his skills were probably improving. She just couldn't wreak that for him. There was also how she felt a bit like an accomplice, seriously sneaking about for the first time in her life to aid another's late-night exploits. She was probably just romanticizing it, but there were times that it didn't feel that way. Sometimes, she arrived before he left, once before he even stared cleaning up. From behind a doorframe, Alicia had watched him, reflected in the metal of the stoves and ovens. She'd gotten her first glimpses of his face and, incomplete as they might have been, seeing the front side of him made her face feel much too hot. At those times, it felt like he was waiting for her, like he wanted his turn to catch a glimpse of his partner in this culinary crime.

Of course, she'd eventually remember that the Rearranger didn't even know about her, that he had no way of knowing.

She was forced to rethink this a week or so after she became a teenager. That was the morning when she came in to find the lights on and a plate, still full, sitting on the counter. Garlic chicken with rice, very well presented and still warm. After a moment of staring at it and wondering if this meant the Rearranger was going to come back, she noticed that what she had assumed to be a napkin under the knife and fork was really a slip of paper, folded in half.

Looking about and listening for his telltale footsteps, Alicia slid the paper out and unfolded it. On it were written two words:

_Thank you._


	2. Another use for an apron

Dracobolt: Hey, you! Thanks for the kind words; it always means more coming from someone you know, you know?

ColletteTheKlutz: Thank you. And, yeah, there should be more Regal/Alicia around here somewhere.

ObviousMan: My ego hopes that you're mostly awake and also thanks you profusely.

Nameless: Thank you.

Lara Luna: I glad I'm not the only one who's noticed that there's a disturbing lack of Regal/Alicia. Nope, this is going to be multi-chapter. Partly because I'd be bored, partly because I'm nuts and partly because I'd go even more nuts if I didn't. Thank you.

End of Response Section

2/18/05 When a person realizes, after they hand in their math test, that they can write fanfiction on their graphing calculator, abet slowly and in caps lock, it's a sure sign that they need some sort of help.

**Disclaimer:** Rallalon does not own Tales of Symphonia or any of its characters, places or items.

.-.-.-.-.-.

Alicia had thought about it all day, fingering that slip of paper now residing in her apron pocket. She hadn't really known what to do, but she felt she had to reply somehow.

The main problem was how.

The first thing she thought of was waiting for him, being in the kitchen when he arrived. But if the plate had been meant for another person, unlikely as it seemed, the Rearranger could be understandably confused and, frankly, not happy. She wanted neither. And - here she grew nervous - what if he had meant it for her and she completely messed up? She barely had any idea of how to start that conversation. "Hi. Even though I know you're not supposed to be here, I've been cleaning up after you for the past few weeks. My name's Alicia, what's yours?"

...No.

So onto option two:

Reply in a like manner. That brought up the question of where to put the note. He might not notice anything on the counter as paper didn't exactly stand out. Putting it somewhere else was equally risky in the he-might-not-see-it sense. Besides, she couldn't risk anyone else finding it. That conversation would probably go even worse than the ones she had been imaging with the Rearranger.

Then there was the problem of what to write. _Hello, Mr. Rearranger. Thank you for the food. It was really good. It was for me, right? Anyway, I know we haven't met and you're probably confused as to why I'm doing this for you. Well, if it makes you feel better, I don't know either..._

And so, after being asked if she was feeling sick over twenty times by five people during the course of the workday, she had come up with her answer. It was polite, it was friendly, and it would hopefully establish a way to communicate from now on. Needless to say, she was very happy about this.

Waiting to implement her plan, the minutes seemed to stretch out. Alicia tried staring at the clock in her room. Alicia tried not staring at the clock in her room. Alicia tried thinking about what she had written in the note clasped in her hand, but that only made her more nervous, making her go so far as to wonder about her spelling, handwriting and grammar. After an eternity that had somehow been packed into less than two hours, she finally got up. One last check was preformed to see if Melissa was completely asleep, and then she was gone, walking as quickly and quietly as she could.

But mostly quickly.

She was relived to see that she had made it to the kitchen first. Not needing her eyes to be fully adjusted, she made her way over to where her apron was hanging, half by touch, half by memory. Her note in one hand, she searched with the other. That one . . . no, even by touch, she could tell that it wasn't her name that was stitched on at the breast. One over... the next one... the next... That one!

She slipped it off of its hook and felt around for the pocket. The piece of paper inside, already heavily creased, proved the apron to be hers. Alicia folded the apron best she could, leaving the pocket uncovered, and set it on the floor near to the peg. Last, she exchanged the notes, making sure to keep hers poking out of the pocket and hopefully rather easy to see.

And when the Rearranger saw it, he'd pick it up and read. _You're welcome_, it began, as that seemed the obvious thing to say once Alicia thought about it. _How long have you known about me?_ was tacked on since she'd felt the need to say something else. Plus, this way she got a chance at directing the conversation. And there would be a conversation.

Because if all went well, her apron would soon be doubling as a mailbox.

.-.-.-.-.-.

"Ali! Watch what you're doing!"

"Huh- wha- Aahhhh!"

A few near-burns later...

"I'm sorry."

Melissa stared at her in something close to disbelief. "You know, _I'm_ supposed to be the tired one here."

Alicia stared at the charred contents of the small bowl on the stove. "I didn't even know butter _could_ burn like that..."

"And yet we let you melt things." Melissa looked at her appraisingly for a moment. "Normally I wouldn't ask this but...You want coffee?"

Mutely, Alicia nodded, still staring. She remained that way until her friend returned.

"You okay?"

Nod.

"Just tired?"

Nod.

"Anything bothering you?"

Shrug.

"Family?"

Shrug. Sip. "Gah!"

Melissa fought back a smile but failed miserably. "You want some cream or something?"

"Yes please," Alicia said sheepishly, handing the cup over.

"So now that you're talking, what's with you today? Something's wrong when my human alarm clock sleeps later than I do."

"I guess I'm just..." Alicia searched around for a better answer than "nervous about the Rearranger" and found one alarmingly close to hand. "I'm worried about my family. I haven't heard from them in almost two years now, so..."

"They didn't send you anything for your birthday?"

Alicia mumbled something about it not being an Ozette tradition, her mind elsewhere. More specifically, it was in her apron pocket with a piece of paper. On one side was her message. On the other was written: _I first noticed you over two weeks ago, when you were in the pantry. I would like to meet you, Alicia. May I?_

The entire thing made her feel incredibly flustered and the only reason why she described the feeling that way was because that was the best word she could think of. She felt like she was in over her head, like the tables had somehow flipped, like she had made some sort of mistake, like she wanted to jump about in glee and smile until her face could stand it no more.

Just _thinking_ about the first sentence brought heat to her face. He'd known. She'd been hiding in a pantry – of all the embarrassing places to hide, a pantry! – and he'd _known_. He could've opened the door at any point and seen her. But, the gentleman he was proving himself to be, he hadn't. Even through her deep embarrassment, she appreciated that. It was the sort of thing that made a person smile, not an about-to-laugh smile, but a smile that meant the person was so happy and content. A humbling happiness.

The second sentence had her even _more_ conflicted. The Rearranger knew what her _name_ was. It had surprised her out of her mind when she'd first read it, leading to several re-reads and much rubbing of the eyes. She'd as good as told him herself: it was on her apron and she'd made certain he'd known it was hers. That meant he knew her full name, her occupation, and even a rough idea of her size! With the first two items, he could look her up in the company database! What if this had been some sort of a... a test or something? Or, if he were doing something bad, she would most definitely get dragged into it. And the possibilities were endless when it came to that what-if: drugging the food, doing some sort of an exchange, using the cooking thing as a cover up and so on. She didn't think he would be doing anything like that, but then she didn't want to either, meaning she could be ignoring something obvious on purpose. She'd used the apron, after all; had she subconsciously wanted him to know?

Then there were the other six words to think about. He wanted to meet her. First reaction: Happy. Ecstatic. Stuff-hand-in-mouth-to-prevent-joyful-outburst-in-public.

Second reaction: Fear. Worry. What if he didn't like her? What if she said something completely inappropriate and alienated him forever? Sure, he rather needed her for insurance, but she wanted him to like her.

And the last part. Just two words, but he was... asking for her permission. Right after saying he wanted to meet her, when he could have simply waited around for her to show, he had asked. Like it was some sort of privilege. The thought threatened to bring her to giggles. As she had dropped off to sleep immediately after her kitchen adventure and woken up to a very grumpy Melissa, it was possible he might have waited for her before writing the note, but it didn't seem so. He was such a... a gentleman!

Okay, she was really obsessing over this.

But she was tired. People were silly when they were tired.

"Ali?"

"Huh?"

Melissa thrust the cup at her, the liquid inside now amber-brown. "You sure you're okay? You do have sick days you can use, remember?"

"I fine. Really."

"Come on, you can't fool me, Ali. just go over and ask Cook- O Martel, _I'll_ go over and ask-"

"Melissa, I'm _fine_. Just tired. Nothing coffee won't fix for a bit." She took a drink to prove her point and ended up chugging it, using the cup to hide her expression until she could be sure it wasn't one of complete disgust. She would've sworn that half-elves had to have invented the liquid with its misleading smell if it weren't for the number of people who actually enjoyed it.

Melissa still looked skeptical, but didn't press the subject further, going back to her task for the day and leaving Alicia to clean the mess she had produced. Alicia resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Who needed the last word when you could get the last action or, in this case, the last inaction?

As she reluctantly set herself to the pattern of rinsing and scrubbing by one of the sinks, her mind returned to what was now the main topic it had.

May I?

Like it was a _privilege_!

.-.-.-.-.-.

She was going to do it. She was. No matter what, she was going to do it.

And for the first time in her life, she wondered what to wear.

As an eight-year-old kid in Ozette, she'd never really thought about clothes. That kind of stupid worry was for older people, and people who were meeting new people and wanted to be liked. Her sister had been approaching the stage where she wanted a new ribbon on the gift holidays instead of a toy, but that was the farthest Alicia had ever seen it go. Well, excluding when Melissa was dating. Even then, it wasn't very helpful. There wasn't much a person could do to their uniform. That being the case, Alicia wouldn't have had much to worry about if she had been meeting the Rearranger during the day. No one can be expected to look amazing in uniform. Good, possibly. Amazing, no way.

Unfortunately, she wasn't in uniform. Sharing a room with Melissa made this both worse and better.

"Melissa, my stuff isn't back from the wash yet," she said truthfully. She had waited for the right moment, both in the regards of laundry day and Melissa's state of dress. "Can I borrow some of your night clothes?"

Already in her pajamas, Melissa agreed to it before adding, "but besides this, I've only got my nightgown... though I could switch if you want..."

"No, that's ok. Thanks."

"No problem. Just hope you can sleep in it."

Alicia made a non-committal sound.

Three hours, a snap-decision not to bother putting her hair back into pigtails and a regret that she didn't own slippers later, she hovered outside of the kitchen doorway. Now that she was there, it seemed a completely stupid idea, meeting him. Using notes, they could talk, but she could have enough time to come up with something intelligent. Face to face, she was positive her mind would go completely blank. And as she was fully coming to grips with how she would be no good mentally, she was becoming disturbingly aware how physically unimpressive she was. She wasn't sure if the blue nightgown made it worse or not.

Breathe in, breathe out. Tired people do silly things. How many times would she have to remind herself of it? Whether this was silly or not, it was even sillier to just stand here doing nothing. It would be okay. And if it weren't, it wouldn't matter much in the long run. All she had to do was keep that in mind. The Rearranger might be nervous, too. For some reason, that seemed unlikely, though it was a bit comforting.

Heavy footsteps. She held her breath and heard the lights _click!_ on. More footsteps. They stopped, presumably by her hanging apron. He was looking through them now; he paused and, though she couldn't be sure, seemed to recheck the empty pocket. Then the other one, also empty.

Silence, save the hum of the refrigerator that masked the sound of their breathing.

Heavy footsteps. _Click!_ More footsteps in the dark, leaving.

...He thought she'd rejected him.

Quite suddenly, she found herself trying desperately not to cry and to stop from sniffling. She wasn't sure why it hurt so bad, but it did and that only made it worse. Alicia pressed at her eyes, trying to prevent anything from leaking out before remembering that doing that would only make it worse. Blink eyes, take even and quiet breaths, try not to think about how much she wanted to go home and find Mommy there...

Heavy footsteps. He was coming back.

Just as suddenly, she felt like she was going to cry for a different reason. There was a feeling in her chest like something in it, not exacting physical, was expanding and wanted to come out of her anyway it could, through smiles and laughter and dancing around and –

Goddess Martel, what was wrong with her! She could get very emotional when exhausted, but wasn't _that_ tired. She was acting like Melissa when she got a crush on some poor, unknowing –

No.

_No_.

Just... _no._ Not... _him_.

But the more she thought about it...

Crud.


	3. Switching to decaf

Dracobolt: Yay graphing calculators! Thanks.

Seventh Sage(x2): Oh. I see. I'll try to stick it into the next chapter.

ObviousMan: Much thanks and I hope you continue to find this fic funny.

BrokenAngel,ForgivenDevil: Updating...

Avari: Getting Alicia's personality was kind of weird. She needs to be able to grow into the character that would say the lines she did and she needs to be a person who non-murderer Regal would fall in love with. In short, I have no idea what I'm doing. (Hey, one of my friends used to do that, but with poems.)

**End of Response Section**

2/22/05 Writing this chapter was kind of odd. Alicia was incredibly nervous for most of it and it made me keep stalling. Weird.

**Disclaimer: **Rallalon does not own Tales of Symphonia or any of its characters, places or items. The line about rice being the perfect side dish was taken from Fairly OddParents: she doesn't own that either. The recipe appearing in this chapter can be found at beefdotallrecipesdotcom, which she does not own.

.-.-.-.-.-.

Alicia felt like walking into that kitchen was one of the hardest things she was ever going to do. But she was going to do it and somehow, it would be impressive.

So, after much internal debate, she stepped into the kitchen.

For one long, perfect moment, he stood there, taking inventory on the items he'd gathered and put on the counter before him. For one long, perfect moment, he stood there, calm and content and at ease, his back turned to her. And after one long, perfect moment...

He turned around.

"Yes."

His calm and contentment visibly disrupted, he blinked, his eyes matching his hair almost exactly. There was then a long, uncomfortable silence as she waited and wondered if he'd realize what she'd meant and why in all of Tethe'alla did she say _that_ of all things.

"I see."

...So that was what his voice sounded like.

Her pulse throbbing at more parts of her body than she thought healthy, Alicia walked over to stand beside him, feeling his eyes on her the entire way. Ten feet was never such a long distance. She kept her own eyes on the ingredients, trying to figure out...

"Pepper steak?"

She wasn't sure, but he looked mildly embarrassed. "With rice."

"The perfect side dish."

He looked at her intently as if trying to see a sign of sarcasm. Alicia found it difficult to look him in the eyes and prayed to Martel that she wasn't turning red.

"So... I'll do that part," she hurriedly volunteered. Grab bag of rice, don't act like it's as heavy as it is, open drawer, get a measuring cup, ignore how this was a really bad order to do things in, reach up for the medium sauce pan, pretend she had meant to take that one, put everything in said sauce pan, grab apron and get _waaaaaay_ out of his way... She really wasn't doing this right, was she?

So nervous she was nearly twitching from it, she could feel him watching her. What she wouldn't give to break the silence. Or to make it so she hadn't had the idiotic idea of getting Melissa to loan her this nightgown. Not only were her legs cold, it had to be really obvious it was borrowed. Appearance had never mattered to her this much before, but considering her current level of intelligence, it seemed that it was all she could have going for her.

A half-cup of rice and two full ones of water later, Alicia listened to the Rearranger's movements from her position by the stove. In not even the time it took for water to come to boil, she'd realized, or at least partially convinced herself, that her little crush was on a romanticized version of the man. But still...

The water boiled.

A lid! She needed a lid! Why hadn't she gotten- because she'd been too embarrassed, that was why! And now she was panicking!

Heavy footsteps.

Abruptly, she became aware of why the Rearranger hadn't immediately turned around when he'd first heard her. He hadn't wanted to. And yet, after what was anything _but_ a perfect moment...

She turned around.

He handed her a lid.

She thanked him.

He went back to his side of the kitchen.

She brought the water down to a simmer and put the lid on. Too big. She used it anyway. It wasn't that big. Not really. If you balanced it the right way. It was better than it being too small, anyway.

Alicia brought her hand to her mouth. No laughing. Tired or not, she couldn't break into giggles about this. It would offend him and drive him away...

But it _was_ funny.

Calming breaths, in and out, in and out. She set the timer and turned her mind towards other things. Like what she was going to do for the next twenty minutes. Pepper steak, pepper steak, what were the specifics of pepper steak? There was the rice and then there was onion and green bell pepper to sauté, but - she quickly glanced in the other's direction - it looked like the Rearranger was doing that. What came next, what came next...?

Uhhh... That's where the steak came in wasn't it? Steak, garlic, and, um, browning sauce got mixed in to the sautéed part. And the steak was cut into thin strips. Alicia looked around to see where he'd put the steak and... no, it wasn't in strips. It was, however, fairly close to him.

Huh.

Well then.

She didn't really need to do that. He was probably very good at multi-tasking. Meaning that she could stay put. Over here.

So now what?

She could just... watch the rice... she guessed.

Sigh.

Fine.

But... she was going to wash her hands again before she did that. Thoroughly. And the same went for drying them. Cleanliness was very important in a kitchen.

There.

She'd need a cutting board. Where was...?

Underneath the steak.

Okay... Alicia could get her kitchen knife first.

There, she had her kitchen knife. She checked again. Yes, it did have "Combatir" craved into the hilt.

So now...

Sigh.

At what she assumed was a casual, non-aggressive, and non-cowardly pace, Alicia went over to him. To the steak and cutting board, she meant.

She was standing next to, uh, in front of the steak and cutting board now. Cutting, cutting, cut cut cut.

He was looking at her. She could tell.

She glanced at him.

It seemed he hadn't been, or had just stopped.

He glanced at her, blue eyes staring into blue eyes.

Her breath caught in her throat and then the words "Time to mix the steak and garlic in?" tumbled out. She wasn't entirely sure, but "Did you put the browning sauce somewhere around here?" might have made it out too.

To Alicia's disappointment, he only nodded, the number of words he'd spoken remaining at four. She added, he stirred and somewhere in the middle of it, the Rearranger practically visibly relaxed. There was something about standing two feet away from a person and making a cooperative effort at cooking a dish that made two people either edgy or comfortable with each other. Alicia was, to understate it, happy that it was turning out to be the latter.

A short while later, the pair each held a plate in hand. There was a pause as each looked at the other and Alicia fully realized just how_ tall_ the Rearranger was. He was _really, really **tall**_.

Alicia hopped up to sit on the counter, remembering to keep her knees together before realizing that the nightgown wasn't that short. She opened the drawer next to the one that her leg was hanging in front of and got out two forks.

She looked at him.

He sat down next to her.

She handed him a fork.

They began to eat.

People seldom think about how private an act eating should be. A person makes sounds when they eat, embarrassing sounds. It's no particularly fun thing to have another person witness this, nor is it exactly comfortable witnessing the sounds of another. This uneasiness usually inspires conversation.

Usually.

"Perhaps we used too much pepper."

Never mind.

Alicia stared at him and chewed very thoroughly, trying for time. "It _is_ pepper steak."

"True."

That was basically the entire exchange between them as they ate. Still, it was something. The count was up to... eleven words now.

Clean up was a simple matter, the only part worth mentioning coming when the Rearranger realized the size of the lid he'd handed her in comparison to the pan she'd used. He didn't say anything. Neither did she.

Everything put away exactly, Alicia having shown him wordlessly for the places that he had trouble with, she felt she had to say something.

As she hung her apron back up, the Rearranger beat her to it.

"Will you join me again tomorrow night?"

"I- Yes." She couldn't help but smile. "See you then."

"Good-night, Alicia," he said to her as she left.

He'd called her by _name_! "Good-night!"

.-.-.-.-.-.

Things fell into a pattern and Alicia found herself spending nearly all her time in the kitchen. And getting tension headaches from nerves. As well as developing a taste for coffee. So much for the theory about it being made by half-elves.

Anyway, the nightgown was returned to Melissa without comment, though there was some wonder as to where she went on her little late-night walks. This, combined with her new need for coffee during the day and frequent yawning during the night, led her to limit her visits to every other day or so. During those meetings, it quickly became apparent that their tastes varied and they began to make separate, but complementary, dishes switching off from main courses to dessert plates to appetizers.

And so, slowly at first, she got to know him. A burnt finger led to a conversation about using Martel's name as an oath; was it sacrilege or were people calling on the deity for aid and patience? A reference she had been confused by led to a history story and the longest discussion she'd yet had with him. Alicia began to recognize when he was willing to talk and when he simply wanted to cook. And more and more, she was finding that the quiet man wanted to talk. She found she wasn't as nervous anymore.

She also realized she didn't know what his name was.

It had come up during what could only be called a fight over the cutting board. He wanted it on the right side of the sink. She'd wanted it on the left. No real reason, it was simply a conflict of preferences. One of them could have simply have gotten another one, but, to Alicia at least, it was more fun this way, waiting for the other to stop using it so it could be stolen. Eventually, as it was just so fitting, she'd gone and called him by the only name she knew him by.

"What?"

"That's what Cook calls you. Stuff kept moving around and so..."

"I became 'the Rearranger'," he concluded, looking somewhat amused.

"Right. Now give me the cutting board."

A small smile on his face, he had deliberately moved it further away from her.

But that was when she had realized it. His name could've been anything from Mithos to Ichabod. She doubted it, but still... She hadn't asked. He hadn't volunteered. Would it have been rude to ask? It felt like it would be. Why, who knew? It just was how she felt about it. If the Rearranger wondered about it, as he probably did, then maybe he would tell her own his own. Did it really matter that she didn't know?

Okay, yeah, it did and it was driving her nuts. But it was a step she wanted him to take of his own volition. It would be sort of like... she didn't know... fishing for compliments otherwise. She might get it that way but it wouldn't mean as much. Or anything, really. Or so she told herself.

.-.-.-.-.-.

Nearly three weeks after their first face-to-face meeting, the communication via her apron pocket picked up again.

"Ali?"

"Yeah?" she happily asked back.

"Have you ever considered decaf?"

Alicia just laughed, her mind immediately going back to her newest note. She'd read it over and over and the meaning was still sinking into her head. Or maybe it already had and she just wanted to be sure.

Because it was fairly simple. It was so simple, in fact, that she had to be missing something. It couldn't possible be that simple. No. It just... couldn't. She had to be misunderstanding him somehow.

He couldn't possibly want to do something non-kitchen-related with her.

But the note said he did.

Technically, he'd asked _her_ if she wanted to. But that implied he wanted to. And that meant, well, it meant that she was having a hard time keeping a straight face. Or something close to it. She assumed.

He'd written that he knew a way off the Lazerano Company area and to that of the "Theatre"(his spelling) area, something that was only rumored and wished for since the train wasn't supposed to go to the Lazerano Company at night. That had implied he'd done this sort of thing before and, as the casino was by the Theatre, knew a way around being underage.

But all speculation aside, it all meant one thing:

He was asking her out.

"No, seriously. We're switching you to decaf."


	4. A large hand holding her own

Avari wind seer: I think I'm a bit like Lloyd in that aspect: not entirely sure of what I'm doing, but doing it enthusiastically until I get bored with it. Hopefully that last part will take awhile. I'm glad you liked it; I wasn't entirely sure of the style.

Dracobolt: One of the benefits of having only an outline of a plot is that making anything overly-planned out is nigh impossible. At least, I _think_ that's a benefit. Gah, must fix spelling error! Thanks for the heads up.

Viktor Mayrin: Much thanks.

Seventh Sage: True, but the railcars do have to run on something.

ObviousMan: Once again, thank you. I hope you'll bear with me as this chapter isn't exactly the most humorous.

BrokenAngel,ForgivenDevil: The wait is, temporarily, over.

**End of Response Section**

2/27/05 This being the last day of school break for me, the next chapter may take awhile. Maybe next Saturday, probably before the Saturday after that. Also, my writing style keeps on getting stranger, so feel free to tell me if things get confusing.

**Disclaimer: **Rallalon does not own Tales of Symphonia or any of its characters, locations or items. The information about the Presea flower was found at mizuho(dot)zapchu(dot)com(slash)drama(dot)htm, which she doesn't own.

.-.-.-.-.-.

Night.

She was awake.

Dark.

She could barely see.

Quiet.

"...Hello?"

She sounded loud, even to her own ears.

"Are you there?"

It had been hard enough convincing herself to actually come. What if he... No. He wouldn't do that. He'd show. She _was_ early after all.

And once again getting rather cold because of Melissa's nightgown. Maybe she should've told Melissa instead of just leaving a note. Because when he did come and they went, she wasn't sure when she'd be back.

Martel, she wasn't even sure if he meant this as a date or not!

Alicia trusted him. She wouldn't be here waiting for him if she didn't. Still... it was times like this when she wondered. So far, she'd been out after curfew for him, more than a few times. This had to go against several more rules. Not only company ones, but ones her parents would've insisted on.

So she'd compromised with the note. Someone relatively responsible knew... roughly where she was. It would be okay. And even if something went wrong or someone tried to bother her... well, she knew the basics of self-defense. Counter and/or hit and then run away really, really fast.

She played with one of her pigtails for a bit.

Yes, things would go just fine.

She hoped.

Very much.

"...Alicia?"

And they would.

"Right here," she whispered back. "Where are you?"

"By the rear door."

"Coming..." Follow the counter, then hand on wall, doorframe, and- "!"

He let go of her hand at the sound of her gasp. "I apologize. I didn't mean to startle you."

"N-no, it's probably a good idea. We'll bump into each other like crazy or lose each other otherwise." She found his arm, his wrist, his hand. Held it.

"Follow me," he told her quietly and with, though she might have imagined it, something close to relief.

She did, her attention on her hand. More precisely, his hand. This was their first intentional physical contact. Between handing plates to each other, the continuing cutting board war, and just generally cooking in the same area, they'd brushed fingers and shoulders (technically shoulder and elbow) before. This was different, constant. She felt smaller, in over her head but obligated to go through with this. This had to be the stupidest thing she'd ever done.

Heavy footsteps, regular, rhythmic, in front of her. A large hand holding her own.

Oh well.

She thought that the Rearranger's outline glanced back on occasion, as if making sure she was still there. Alicia tightened her grip when he did that. He didn't seem to mind.

He stopped. A small light lit up.

She squinted.

Elevator.

"Close your eyes."

Out of reflex, she did so.

_Ding!_ So loud in this quiet.

She heard the door open and light blazed through her eyelids, red-orange. Gently, always gently, he guided her in. The door closed and the elevator rose. So loud, so bright.

_Ding!_

Open, out, close. When she opened her eyes, it looked like everything was tinged a dark green. Or maybe blue. A gentle pull on her hand prompted her to start walking again. Another door.

Wavering light from her right allowed her to see the large desk on her left, framed by a pair of elevators. The light, as well as quiet water sounds, came from an opening in the wall.

They'd reached the main lobby.

"You sure about the tide being low enough?"

"Yes. It should remain so for several hours." In the dim light, she could see his face, his expression. She could turn back now and he wouldn't think less of her. She didn't have to walk on the elemental railway rail in the middle of the night with an older teenager whose name she didn't even know.

She was scared, terrified even, to know that she wanted to. "Then let's not waste time."

.-.-.-.-.-.

"That... was... crazy," she told him as they waited for the elemental railway to arrive at the Casino and Theater stop. "Can I ask how you learned how to do that, or do I not want to know?" She was only half-joking.

"I once saw repairmen walking on one of the rails during the day. It seemed fairly simple, though returning to the boarding stations was a problem at first."

"As long as a railcar doesn't run you over. Which would probably be the reason we're going this at night." Everything she said sounded awkward to her ears.

"Exactly."

"But what about, you know, being underage?"

"Actually, age only matters if you wish to gamble."

Huh. "Never knew that."

He looked surprised. "You've never visited the theatre here?" He sounded it too.

She shook her head, eyes focused on the structure coming into sight. That huge bridge, casino and pub on one side, theatre on the other, the entire thing lit. Wow. "Good thing we're remedying that."

The elemental railcar stopped. They got off.

Amazing how she could live in Altamira for over five years of her life, since she was _eight_, and have never laid eyes on this part of it. Bright lights; people walking about, laughing; couples looking out over the water at the bridge or... otherwise occupied; that fellow the casino workers were, repeatedly it seemed, throwing out of the casino; a group of friends gathered at the pub, one of them nervously looking about for someone.

So this was the nightlife.

"The theatre is over the bridge," he told her with a slight nod in its direction. "Shall we?"

"That's what we're here for."

He didn't take her hand. She walked by his side, looking around at the place, averting her eyes from the people.

He was looking at her, watching her enjoy being here. She could tell. Wouldn't look at him directly, catch him staring. He'd stop then, being the gentleman she knew he was. She wasn't sure about it, but, for now, she thought liked the feeling, liked being considered good enough to be looked at. Strange feeling. But a good one.

They'd reached the theater. Sat down in the second row. Waited, side-by-side.

Awkwardly.

"So... Do you know what the play is?"

"A reenactment of the Ancient Kharlan War or the Death of the Hero Mithos, perhaps."

Ah. He sounded like... "You've seen those before."

"There are many variations," he assured her. "There's always the possibility of another play. Or something done by Katz." Something in his voice told her the last option wasn't exactly one to look forward too. "Either way, it should begin-"

The stage lights began to flash on and off.

"...Right now."

It wasn't by Katz and, as far as she knew, it wasn't a reenactment. The basic plot seemed to be that a young and reluctant Chosen was being taken to an Abbey where he would be raised, but along the way was kidnapped by half-elves looking for a quick way to get rich. The Chosen escaped the half-elves (who were later killed, rather comically, when they tried to collect the ransom anyway) and went about enjoying himself. Even Alicia was quick to realize that, by the end of it, the Chosen would realize he was being irresponsible, possibly after falling in like, and return to his duty. Several people left at the point where it grew too obvious.

It was still a nice play, though. Lively music, witty dialogue, decent singers, convincing props...

Good company...

"Ahh!" "Woah!" "Ack!" "_Look out_, _Chosen!_"

Good company that apparently didn't mind that much when she was one of the people startled a little too much by the Gaoracchia Forest scene. It _was_ scary. And even if the plot wasn't too good, the performers or stage people or whoever set the stage up knew what they were doing. There was a definite mood and it didn't help that she'd always been more than a bit frightened of that forest. Or even a copy of it, it seemed.

"Are you alright?" he asked her quietly, not making a big deal of how she'd momentarily cut off the circulation in his arm. Trying not to sound amused.

Failing miserably.

"...Fine." She thought she sounded small, but couldn't be sure, what with her heart pounding in her chest and ears like that. "Probably just tried."

"Shhh!"

Alicia shut her mouth, wondering if the person behind them would decide they were loud enough to kick. It gave off a different sort of suspense. The play progressed with deliberate slowness now, making the audience tense once more. After one more audience freak-out session, there was finally an intermission to allow a scene change.

"I'm... sorry about your sleeve."

"It's only wrinkled."

"...I'm sorry."

"I think that part of the play is meant to cause that reaction."

She laughed, mostly from relief. He didn't think she was a coward or something. "Probably."

"What do you think of the performance so far?" he asked after a brief pause as she studied the new props being brought onto stage.

O Martel.

"Alicia?"

"Wh-what? Sorry, I just thought I recognized something." On second glance, they were just paper flowers, just props. The stage lights were off. People mistook things when they were tired. Tired, not homesick.

"What is it?"

"I... Want to make a bet?" There was something in the air, perhaps from the casino not too far away. Of all the risks she was taking tonight, this had to be the safest. And yet...

There was something in the air.

Instead of bring up how she was underage for gambling, he only asked, "What over?"

"I bet the person who rescued the Chosen takes him to Ozette, not Sybak. Or Mizuho," she added. Such things might happen in plays and she had heard rumors of the city being near or in the forest.

"The stakes?"

"Who gets to choose what we make next. Any dish at all, no matter how obscure or bad-tasting the other person thinks it is."

He stared at the stage for a moment. "I accept."

They talked idly for a few minutes more. Intermission ended. The lights went on. The Chosen of Mana awoke in a small house built into the side of what was supposed to be an incredibly large, mossy tree with white flowers growing about its base.

Alicia felt him looking at her again. Glanced up.

He looked back, wordlessly asking.

She grinned and looked back to the play.

The performance went on, the Chosen maturing slightly as he recovered from his scare in the forest. The fact that he was alive was praised as a miracle and so the boy seemed to be brought somewhat closer to Martel due to his thankfulness. Eventually, the townsfolk told him where a boat that could take him to Meltokio would dock and he set off for it. And as he stood on the docks, waiting for the ship to come, the play ended.

"How did you know?" he asked quietly after, the pair walking back along the bridge.

"Do you remember the flowers they had growing everywhere for the Ozette scenes? They're called 'Presea' and only grow near Ozette. Those were only paper ones, but when I saw them..." She shrugged.

"I take it you're from Ozette."

She nodded, looked out over the bridge rail towards the entrance of the city, slowed her pace. Tried to stretch out the moments until they'd make their way back. Stopped. Leaned on the rail and stared at the stars, dim because of the lamps lining the bridge.

He stood next to her. "I'm going to be gone for the next few weeks."

She looked up at him. He was staring forward. Looking at stars? Marveling at the city? Avoiding her gaze?

"'Few'?"

"Three. And two days."

"When are you leaving?"

"Tomorrow."

Huh.

So many things to ask. Where was he going? What was he doing there? Who was he going with? Why was he only telling her now? Why was he telling, period? Was he going to miss her? Had the night been some big good-bye or a date or both?

What was his name?

"Gives me a lot of time to pick out that recipe."

That... was probably not a good thing to say.

"Have fun. And apron me when you get back." Slightly better.

"I will."

"I look forward to it."

Under the night sky, the pair stood in companionable silence for a moment. For one, long, perfect moment.

"The tide will be getting higher by now."

"So... we should head back."

"Indeed."

Beside and slightly behind him, she walked back, boarded the elemental railway. Felt numb, detached from the world and strangely connected at the same time. She mattered enough to say good-bye to. That was something. Not entirely happy, but... it was something.

They got off at the Altamira Entrance stop. Waited for the next car to depart, for there to be no one around. He jumped down onto the wide rail. Turned around, offered her his hand for support.

She took it and jumped down beside him, nervous and tense. Almost let go after. Didn't want to. Didn't let go.

As he led the way back, he didn't seem to mind. Heavy footsteps, regular, rhythmic, in front of her. A large hand holding her own.

Alicia knew it was childish, holding on like this. She felt like a child, compared to him.

He was going to be gone for twenty-three days. _Twenty-three_. Practically a month. She wasn't going to get to see him for that long. Every-other night was one thing, but _twenty-three_... It nearly felt like when she left Ozette to come work here. But she was just being silly again. The Rearranger wasn't family and it wasn't like she wouldn't see him for over four years.

But _twenty-three days_. That was twelve or eleven times she'd miss seeing him. It was slightly better that way. Slightly. And she would see him again, later.

As for now... there were heavy footsteps, regular, rhythmic, in front of her, and there was a large hand holding her own.


	5. Distractions

Dracobolt: Thank ya muchly.

ObviousMan: Thank you and I appreciate your support.

Seventh Sage: The flower thing as actually turned out to be more fun than I thought it would be. I should be thanking _you._

BrokenAngel,ForgivenDevil: Now _that_ was the reaction I was aiming for!

End of Response Section 

3/11/05 I'm a pyro who has OCD. This chapter is proof. I had to change it slightly as it wouldn't work the first time. The fact that I put off writing the scene until I could find the right recipe both scares and amuses me. But mostly amuses.

Oh, and just in case any of you wonder(I did), double cream is just very rich cream, about 48 butterfat. That's 8 higher than the highest-fat cream that you can get in the US. And a ramekin is just a small dish used for baking and serving. No matter what country you live in, this has been your lesson of the chapter. If you already knew this, I hope you were amused with my ignorance. On with the fic. And what's probably the longest disclaimer I've ever written.

**Disclaimer**: Rallalon does not own Tales of Symphonia or any of its characters, places or items. Cooking-related information used in this chapter was found at the following sites which Rallalon doesn't own either: www(dot)dvo(dot)com(slash)recipepages(slash)grilln(slash)CookingWithaBlowtorch.html

www(dot)bbc(dot)co(dot)uk(slash)food(slash)recipes(slash)database(slash)sweetpotatobrulee(underdash)72133(dot)shtml

www(dot)answers(dot)com(slash)ramekin&r67

www(dot)ochef(dot)com(slash)543(dot)htm.

She is in no way responsible for any mishaps/accidents a person may have while attempting to cook a recipe they learned of through her fic.

.-.-.-.-.-.

Time passes very slowly. Or perhaps time is simply how humans, and elves she assumed, explain how the world changes, saying that time has passed. And maybe when the world does not change, what humans think of as time slows down. Or it could be that what humans thought of as time moves at one constant pace, but the perspectives of humans make it seem like its speed changes. There was also the possibility that it _did_ change, either randomly or maybe when flattered by all the attention it was getting and thereby slowing down.

However, it was far more likely that Alicia was just trying to amuse herself while keeping an eye on the soup and stirring. It was still something to think about, though.

"Coffee, Ali?"

"No thanks. Melissa, do you think that- What?"

"What do you mean, 'what'?"

"You just looked, you know, like you do when you find out some guy likes you." At Melissa's prompting gesture, Alicia tacked on, "Relieved and happy."

"You on coffee is weird. I guess I'm just glad you're not sick or anything with how you were having trouble sleeping and everything." Melissa shrugged.

"Yeah. Thanks," Alicia replied, deaf to the awkwardness of her friend. Normal. Three weeks of everything going back to "normal". Strange how it _did_ feel normal, now. Strange how just three weeks could erase a habit of nearly three months. Roughly four and a half since this all started, she figured. Strange.

After the first week, the constant checking of her apron pockets stopped. The urge to get out of bed and tiptoe down to the kitchen finally left her. Constant wondering turned into the occasional thought. The need to talk to him, to listen to him, to hear those footsteps... died down.

That was good, wasn't it? No one was supposed to be that focused on just one person, to have one person the center off all their waking thoughts, as well as some of the other kind. It couldn't be healthy. But to have that feeling, the one that made her heart pound, the one that led her to the kitchen again and again, the one that made her want to smile no matter what was happening... for that feeling to leave her... She wasn't sure she wanted that. She wasn't sure if it had completely happened. Partially... yes.

This was her first major crush. That was basically all that she _was_ sure of. If it lasted only a third of a year, well, that was pretty good for a thirteen-year-old girl, she thought.

Eyes going back between the soup and the timer, she slowed her stirring, stopped.

"Combatir."

"Yes, sir?"

"You have a moment." From Cook, it was a statement, not question. Her job was reduced to monitoring now and someone else could be pulled in for that. He knew that better than she did.

"Yes, sir."

"Today's the day."

Alicia's mind blanked. "Sir?"

"Ask Wenton to teach you how to use _It_."

Straight face, no outburst, be mature, straight face, no outburst, be mature, and, above all, _don't question why_. "Thank you, sir."

"You're old enough now. Get to it, Combatir."

"Yes, sir!"

Of course, it was easier to forget about teenage gentlemen and their large hands when one had distractions. And _It_ was a distraction she'd been marveling at for years, regarding with great interest and, though she didn't like to admit it, fear. _It_ was a distraction that hinted at things to come. As she dutifully listened to every word Anthony Wenton said, she realized that she had found the recipe for her bet.

So maybe true distractions were hard to come by. Maybe she didn't really want one just yet.

.-.-.-.-.-.

It was morning. It was morning twenty-three days after a play under the stars.

"Up!" Alicia cried, already fully dressed, as she pulled the sheets away from her roommate in a practiced motion. Making breakfast for an entire building meant waking up far earlier than anyone cared for. Except for Alicia, today.

Melissa muttered something that roughly translated to "I thought you stopped drinking that stuff." At least, that was the polite version.

"I did! Come on, up!" She then proceeded to steal a pillow.

"Evil."

"Yep!"

"..."

"Come on, wake up!"

"Yes, _milaaaa-dy_."

"No sarcasm until you're up. Come on, let's go!"

"Go without me. I'll-" a yawn. "I'll be there..." One more. "In a little bit."

"Okay..."

"You're leaving on the light, aren't you?"

"Ah-huh."

"Evil."

"Wake yourself up then," she answered, still smiling, and left for the kitchen.

He was back today. He was _back_.

No words for this feeling, no words.

The kitchen was still fairly empty when she got there, just Cook and some of the earlier risers. Alicia immediately grabbed her apron, her heart pounding, and put it on before checking the pockets.

She stopped.

She was torturing herself, she knew that, but when it came down to it, she wasn't sure she wanted to look. Had he been unable to get to the kitchen, there would be no note. And this seemed likely now that she thought about it. He'd probably be tired or with someone who would wonder what he was doing. So long as she didn't check, she could believe otherwise, that he was back and that this hadn't been some way of his for saying a permanent good-bye. It didn't matter how likely she thought it; there was the possibility and she was fairly sure she'd believe that possibility to be true if she check and it wasn't-

O Martel, when would she stop being such an idiot?

She reached in, felt paper. Thought she was going to fall over from self-inflicted nerves. Winced at the return of her headache. Sagged slightly, suddenly very tired.

"Ha."

Alicia turned around to find a bleary-eyed Melissa yawning. Despite this, she looked rather satisfied to find her younger friend as tired as she was, probably because Alicia had been annoyingly energetic just minutes before. Misery loves company, after all. Melissa seemed to think she had it.

That Alicia had the urge to laugh harder than she had for the past three weeks wasn't exactly taken into this consideration.

.-.-.-.-.-.

"Good evening."

Suddenly shy, Alicia tried not to smile too much at the teen standing patiently by the counter, waiting for her. A nice change. "Good evening to you, too." Okay, holding back the smile was pointless, but so far she had restrained herself from a fierce hug and a yell of "You're back!" as she doubted it would be exactly appreciated.

He smiled back, but there was a definite question in his expression. Was he wondering if she would ask him about the trip? His name? She wanted to ask, desperately. But he just looked so uneasy about the possibility... It'd be a bad idea.

"Close your eyes."

He stared at her. "What?" Apparently, that was the last thing he had expected her to say.

She gave a small laugh. "I want you to guess what I chose, but I need to get everything out here first. Are you alright with a dessert?"

He nodded obeyed, trusting her not to do something immature while he couldn't see, like throwing something at him or simply leaving the kitchen. She made sure she could be heard when going to the pantry.

Two sweet potatoes... Brown sugar... Where'd the- ah, there it was. And she'd leave the double cream in the refrigerator until it was needed.

She looked back into the kitchen and had an odd feeling of déjà vu. His back wasn't turned, but he still couldn't see her peeking out at him. Strangely, he didn't look impatient. In fact, he looked amused and interested, cupping his chin.

...Okay, she should probably move now, before he wondered what in the world she was doing and caught her staring. Looking. Getting bowls and a pair of ramekins would be a good idea.

"Ready."

He opened his eyes and it was quickly obvious that he was wracking his brain for some sort of a guess.

"May I ask?"

"Sweet Potato Brulée."

"There's such a thing?"

Alicia nodded, her smile back in full force. "Do you want to peel or boil?"

From there, things fell back into the ease they had grown used to, nearly as if there had been no large gap in their cooking sessions. Alicia brought up the play and her disappointment in the ending; he thought it was the best part. But how could that be?

When one thought about it, there was nothing saying that the Chosen of the play had actually returned to Meltokio. In fact, he could have simply used the boat to run away. The ambiguousness of the ending was what made it good, letting viewers decide the outcome from their own opinion.

Interesting. Were most plays like that?

Some. Would she care to discover which ones for herself?

...Possibly. If he didn't mind taking her, that was.

...He didn't. When tide was low enough, of course.

For curiosity's sake, when would that be?

Tomorrow night, he assumed. Or perhaps the night after.

The night after, she thought.

Yes, he thought she was probably right.

...The Sweet Potato Brulée was in its last stage now. He might want to stand back.

"...What is that?"

Alicia had just pulled _It_ out from its place under the counter and was busy rolling up her sleeves. "A blowtorch," she replied simply.

"I see." He paused. "Why is there a blowtorch in the kitchen?" Something in his tone told her that while she was more than used to the idea and took it as a given, it was something fairly bizarre to him.

Making sure her hair was still in pigtails, she struggled not to laugh, kept in check mostly by the thought of how people disliked not knowing things. Laughing at this point wasn't a good idea. "You'd be surprised how often it can be used."

"...I see."

The counters were made to be heatproof and the ramekins were fairly safe, so... Alicia lit the blowtorch and adjusted it until there was a yellow-red cone in the center of the dark blue flame. Moving the flame back and forth, keeping it about three finger widths above the desserts, she tried to ignore the feeling that he was looking at her. Of course he was: it was a natural reaction. Turning your back on someone with a blowtorch wasn't exactly a common response.

She stopped and the sugar continued to cook even as she turned the blowtorch off. "And that's why we have this thing," she told him, trying her best to meet his gaze. It would be easier if he didn't have that look that was one part of something close to wariness, two parts respect and one part... something else. Having worn it herself on occasion, she knew it was basically a reaction to watching someone use a blowtorch, but... still...

It was a while until she looked directly at him again, catching then end of what she liked to think of as a long glance. His gaze went down to his dessert and he smiled softly to himself. A different sort of smile.

Before he could catch her staring, she looked away, suddenly embarrassed. She wanted to ask him. She wanted to ask him now.

"I've been wondering for a while. What's your-"

He looked at her.

"-favorite kind of dish?"

From this incident, she learned two things. One, she was a coward who couldn't say a simple question right. Two, he liked stews which, of course, took too long for him to make one.

Clean up was a fairly simple procedure and was, in Alicia's opinion at least, over far too soon. Just, well, after not seeing him for three weeks, well, she didn't want to say good-bye just yet. It was perfectly normal to want to spend time with friends after a long while apart. Nothing wrong with that.

"Close your eyes."

She stared at him. "What?" Blinked. Something was weirdly familiar about this.

"Close your eyes," he repeated, gently.

Smiling despite herself, she crossed her arms and closed her eyes. Listened to his footsteps. Heard him open a cabinet door. Close it. What... Now that she thought about it, it seemed to be roughly around where he had been waiting. She thought. Resisted the urge to look. The strong urge. Not from paranoia or anything, just curiosity. It really did take a lot of self-control to simply stand there with one's eyes closed.

Heavy footsteps, approaching.

Then silence, save the refrigerator, their breathing and her heart. Why was he pausing like that? Exactly how close was he?

It couldn't have been that long until he moved, but it felt like it. A step towards the counter and then many towards the door. "Feel free to look now."

She did, turning to face him. He gave her a hesitant smile, bid her goodnight.

..._What?_

What by Goddess Martel's name had _that_ been? And... and _why?_

She took a confused look around and-

Oh.

Huh.

Where- No. She knew where.

Why... That was the question. Because how could he have thought she wouldn't like it?

For there on the counter, was a small sprig with several small flowers.

Small, white Presea flowers.


	6. A very stupid thing to do

ObviousMan: Long live blowtorches! Never actually used one, but I've seen one in action on occasion. As for the Presea flowers, my information source(Mizuho, the Mystical Village) has them down as white flowers. Though pink would make sense. In short, I'm going with what I've got.

Dracobolt: Ya gotta love blowtorches. You just have to.

Avari: The style's getting better? I'm still fooling around with it, but I think I kept it fairly non-omniscient.

WhitterZ: One of the main reasons why I look into the recipes is that I don't want any readers who cook to get thrown out of the story by my having something wrong in it. I once read a story where wine was made in twenty minutes from random grape-like berries: little details like that can make or break a story.

Seventh Sage: It's official: the world loves blowtorches.

BrokenAngel,ForgivenDevil: ...I did _not_ mean it that way. This is a PG fic. At best, it's getting up to PG13. Still, your review sent me into laughter once I made it through a "What have I done?" moment. I'm still renaming the chapter, though.

SpecterOfSiskel: Thank you.

elle: Now _this_ is why the review system is handy! I don't pay much attention to my nose so those are the kind of details I've been neglecting. Not so for you. A _huge_ thank you.

**End of Response Section**

3/26/05 Keep this in mind at all times while reading Midnight Snack: the author doesn't know how to write romance. She doesn't. Keeping that in mind, enjoy the update.

**Disclaimer: **Rallalon does not own Tales of Symphonia or any of its characters, places or items. The recipe for Holiday Harvest Rice, which she doesn't own, can be found at: www(dot)allrecipes(dot)com. She is in no way responsible for any mishaps/accidents a person may have while attempting to cook a recipe they learned of through her fic.

.-.-.-.-.-.

She wore the flowers in her hair. She was fairly sure that it just looked stupid, but off-hand she didn't really have any other place to put them.

That, and the urge to show them off was too great. Even if it did attract looks. And, if she was honest with herself, she sort of did want to. She loved the relationship she had with him, but... It felt like she had to hide it. And hiding it made her feel like it was a bad thing, something to be ashamed of. Which it wasn't.

So she wore the flowers. And she would have been singing if it weren't for the undeniable fact that while Alicia had gotten the height, her sister had gotten the singing voice. As it was, she was bordering on humming.

But, of course, there were questions.

Or in Melissa's case, questioning looks. Which Alicia pretended she didn't see.

And Cook got ticked off because of the sanitary reasons. Which was always kind of scary.

Fine, maybe it wasn't her best idea, but when he saw her wearing them two nights later... Well, she'd gotten an odd feeling, like something was being inflated inside her chest while something else contracted and started flopping around. It was actually kind of nice... in a really weird, nerve-wracking way. The Presea flowers had been more than half-dead by then and were getting to the stage where she was considering pressing them, but he'd liked it.

He'd smiled.

But that had been mostly it.

Their routine picked up once more, if slightly irregularly now, not the simple every-over-night plan they'd had before. Now, they had to plan it out, and there were gaps, two or three nights where they didn't see each other. And it seemed like he was going on a trip nearly every second week, meaning he'd be gone for at least five days on end.

But that meant he'd gotten a promotion. That was a good thing. That meant she should be happy for him, maybe even proud.

She wasn't sure where she stood, though. Pre-flowers, everything could be interpreted simply, in a "We're friends" way. Even the play, though that was pushing it. Post-flowers... Alicia didn't know. Was she supposed to make a move? If so, what? Was she looking at this the wrong way? Thinking about it too much?

The last one, she had to admit, was probably the case. Even if it was more interesting than assembling sandwiches.

Over the noise of the kitchen, there came the familiar sound of a spoon hitting a pan lid. "Attention, everyone!" Cook called. There was an important-looking man next to him, which explained why he was in Polite Mode. Alicia automatically looked to the band on the other man's left arm. A gold one. Very important, then.

"Alright, everyone. In two weeks time, we have an Event," Cook continued, his tone strongly implying that the last word had a capital. "I know this is on very short notice. I know that this will be tough. But I also know that we can do this. Because this Event will either take place here, or at the hotel." This was said with a fair amount of distaste before he went on to try to rally his so-called "troops". "So where's it going to be?"

"Here!" While Cook was by no means a motivational speaker, Alicia had a strong feeling most workers would be yelling "Down with the hotel café!" if it weren't for the gold band in the room. It was just one of those things.

"What was that?"

"_Here!_"

"Good to know! Now return to your tasks!"

The kitchen staff did so. Until the man with the gold band left that was.

"What's this 'Event', sir?"

"Seems El Presidente Junior is stepping up. Looks like we're going to be having co-presidents soon."

If that wasn't a cue for jokes, Alicia didn't know what was.

"So what will we call them, then?"

"Co-Presidentes!"

"Co-Presidente Senior and Co-Presidente Junior?"

And so on. Kitchen humor could be a very odd thing, Alicia mused. And this wasn't even on the topic of artichokes.

Steering away from that thought...

"Melissa, do you think we'll get to- Melissa?"

"Yeahwhauh, yes?"

Alicia blinked. "Something on your mind?"

"Ah, no not really. Just concentrating hard, I guess." Melissa shrugged. "Oh, come on, don't give me that look."

"If something was up, you'd tell me, right?"

"And you'd do the same for me."

Alicia was getting the strong feeling that she was being guilt-tripped. "Yeah." _Eventually, Melissa.__ I will. When I figure out what's going on._

And that would probably take a while.

.-.-.-.-.-.

In fact, it was turning out to be a _long_ while. Alicia half wanted to ask Melissa what she should do, she being the one with all the dating experience and all. That, and how Alicia desperately needed someone to talk about this with.

Of course, there was how the entire situation was insane, meaning that telling was a Bad Idea. Getting a person's name was, without a doubt, the second thing a person did in any relationship; it was right after "Hello." And yet, here she was... being insane. She'd passed the limits of "silly" a very, very long time ago.

And she was surprisingly okay with that.

Even if the hallways at night were kinda creepy.

"Hey," she called, unable to stop the smile that was undeniably linked to seeing him.

"Good evening." She liked to think that his was linked to her.

So it was definitely worth it. There were, however, some moments when she wasn't sure how much so.

Just last week, they'd been experimenting with different ways to make chili. It had started to be a normal activity, making three different kinds of the same dish, trying to figure out what was best.

And then it had happened.

Alicia had been stirring Batch A on the stove while keeping an eye on browning Batch B. Then he had stood behind her, leaned over her shoulder and had breathed in the scent of said chili with his eyes closed. He had looked so... so just... He'd been so close that she could have leaned back a few finger widths and she would have been resting against his chest. Or she could have stood up on the tips of her toes and-

He moved away, leaving her with a thundering heart and completely unaware of it. Stunned by her own reaction, she stared at his back as he started dicing tomatoes for Batch C. It'd just been a short stop on his way back from getting a knife, that was all, she told herself. No reason for- no reason for any of that. Just a- a mad impulse. She wouldn't have really... no way. No way.

But the idea stuck. It had planted itself. And it wasn't leaving any time soon. This was partially because his standing behind her like that when checking on her progress was gradually becoming a habit, but mostly because she'd found that she actually liked the idea.

When it didn't completely creep her out, that was.

"Alicia?"

"Rice, y-yes," she stammered, grabbing onto the last thing she could remember him saying. Stupid, stupid, stupid! Zoning out and thinking about... _that_... while he was in the same room... And she must've been staring at him too... Stupid! "There's, um, a recipe my Mommy-" And now she sounded childish! "-used to make that I was thinking of. It's a holiday one, but..."

"That sounds interesting."

How... how did he always know, she was stilling wondering a few minutes later as she laid out almonds on a baking sheet. How did he know what to say? Simple words, meant to put her at ease, even when it was his fault that she wasn't?

That was just part of it, she guessed. Part of the reason why she...

Toasting the almonds. She needed to pay attention to the almonds. Because nothing looks stranger than an over-toasted almond. And she'd need to pay attention to the onion when cutting it as her fingers were still happy being fully intact.

And she would _stop wondering when he was going to stand behind her again._ She would.

"Does your mother make this often?" he asked, apparently done with his part with the rices and chicken broth.

"It was just for holidays, really," Alicia replied, trying to ignore his use of the present tense.

"I see." Something in his voice said that it must have come through in her tone, though.

This was awkward.

Alicia sniffed loudly, pointedly cutting the onion. "Eventually, someone is going to invent a good way to cut onions."

"It would be beneficial."

"Yeah. Ah, can you melt the butter? Medium-high heat. Anyway, we'd only have it a couple times every year, but it was one of the first recipes I learned. That was before I came to work here. I suppose my sis is still making it."

It seemed he was one of those people who know when not to pity. That was a relief. But it probably meant he'd lost a family member too. She'd have to be careful if she ever wanted to ask. "You have a sister?"

A good topic. Alicia nodded, smiling. "Her name's Presea!"

"Like the flower?"

"Like the flower."

There was a comfortable silence for a moment.

"Alicia, what comes after the butter has melted?"

"Onions!" she replied brightly, quickly gathering up the thick wedges she'd cut in one hand. Alicia moved next to him and, reaching around him, was adding them to the skillet on the stove before it had fully occurred to her. She was the one getting close this time. And he... was he looking at her? Did he, well, get that insane impulse?

She moved away. Went back to the cutting board and started slicing mushrooms.

"You need a teaspoon of brown sugar, too."

Stupid.

So... stupid.

What kind of person wanted to be kissed while holding a handful of chopped onion?

Not exactly soon enough, the dish was done and in the process of being eaten. By then, she'd gotten her thoughts straightened out, mostly. Enough that she was fairly sure she could look at him without turning red.

"Have you ever considered making an entire meal?"

Eyes on plate, eyes on plate. "A little."

"Would you like to?"

Eyes on plate, eye on plate. Alicia nodded, chewing.

He let the subject drop and it wasn't picked up again until the end of clean up.

As steadily as she thought possible, Alicia turned to him and asked, "When's the next time you can come?"

"Three days from now, I believe."

"So we'll try then?"

He blinked before saying a simple "Indeed."

"Good." A pause. "Fish or chicken?"

"How do you feel about pasta?"

She smiled. "That's good, too. I'll just have to remember not to eat much at dinner."

"And I as well."

"Well, good-night then."

"Good-night, Alicia."

And before he could turn to leave, without anything even remotely resembling thought, she'd quickly taken two large steps forward, risen to her tip-toes while placing a hand on his chest only partially for balance's sake, and had brushed his lips with hers.

Then a little thing called "thought" had kicked back in.

She turned and ran.


	7. El Presidente Junior

ObviousMan: Perhaps I should restate that: I'm not entirely sure what I'm doing, but it seems to be working. I have no idea how long it will continue to do so. I do find your reaction encouraging, though.

Dracobolt: Thanks as always.

Vilya: Hey, haven't seen you in a while! Thanks.

**End of Response Section**

4/2/05 People pay a lot of attention to Cold and Flu Season. Very few notice Cold and Allergy Season. Well, anyway, tell me if you think this chapter is too drawn out. I'm really starting to need to practice a lot of character manipulation and I'm not sure how obvious it is. It doesn't help that I can never be completely sure of my grip on Regal's pre-Alicia personality.

**Disclaimer: **Rallalon does not own Tales of Symphonia or any of its characters, places or items.

.-.-.-.-.-.

"Ali?"

Not now, not now after everything. How loud had she been to wake Melissa up? One more stupid thing to add to the list. She pretended she was asleep.

"Come on, Ali, I know you're awake."

She pretended harder, ignoring what was threatening to become a pounding headache.

"Ali, you- Why are you wearing your apron?"

...What? She'd... Right, she hadn't taken it off... before... and when she left... "What?"

"What's going on?"

"Go to sleep, Melissa."

"You think I don't want to?" Alicia felt the bed sink under her as Melissa sat on it.

"Then why aren't you?" Alicia mumbled into her pillow.

"Alicia. Look at me," Melissa said in her most stubborn voice.

She sighed and did so, flopping over onto her back.

The shadow sitting on her bed leaned forward and remarked in a tone both surprised and matter-of-fact, "You've been crying."

No, not really. Not that much. Just because he hadn't done anything in even a vague response wasn't a reason to cry. "..."

"Why? Where've you been going on those walks of yours? Okay, that's obvious from the apron, the kitchen, but what are you doing there?"

"..."

"Don't think I haven't wondered what's up. It's the best friend's job to wonder. _And_ worry. For Martel's sake, you've been going for half a year, ever since Cook asked you to... You met 'em. I'd thought so."

Nod.

"He is a he, right?"

She let out a breath, a short rueful laugh. "He's a he."

"...You liked him, didn't you?"

"How'd you-"

"You've a very readable face, you know that?"

Another laugh. "It's dark in here!"

"Maybe if you were just in a lit room," Melissa pointed out before grabbing back onto the original topic. "So what happened?"

Alicia looked at the ceiling only to have her silence vastly misinterpreted.

"He didn't _try_ anything, did he?"

"Wha- what, _no!_" She sat upright. "He's a perfect gentleman!"

"Okay, okay, shhhh. Remember the time."

"Sorry," Alicia whispered back before furiously continuing, "but he wouldn't do... _that_."

"Ali, all I know is that you've been seeing him, at night, for about six months, you like him and now you're in tears-"

"I am not in tears."

"-so I've got very little to go on. Unless you actually tell me what happened, that is."

"I..." Her throat closed up on her and she nearly made herself a liar. "I did something stupid."

"What?" Melissa asked, softly, gently.

And then the shock wore off. The mere magnitude of what she'd done... So complete irreversible that she was more than scared by it. She'd lose him now, she was sure of it. There wasn't one reason why he'd want to have that kind of relationship with her. She felt like bashing her head against the wall. Of all the stupid, idiotic, moronic...

What kind of an idiot kisses a person right after eating something with onions in it?

"I just... I don't even know why I did it. It just came over me and I..."

"You told him."

"I kissed him."

Saying it aloud was a very odd thing. Final. Irrevocable.

Done.

And she watched Melissa sit there in a sort of stunned silence, before saying at last, "...Wow."

Alicia let out a dull-voiced, "Yeah."

"So..."

She let out what had been torturing her the most. "He didn't even try to stop me."

A pause. "Alicia," her friend told her incredulously, "when a guy lets you kiss him, that's considered a _good_ sign."

Oh and now the sniffles were coming back. "No, I, I ran."

"What? You lost me."

"After. I ran."

"Let me get this straight: you kissed him and then you ran away?"

"And he let me."

Alicia abruptly found herself being hugged, and an insistent whisper of "It'll be okay" in her ear.

That moment lasted for a very long time.

"And you know," Melissa said some time later, "some guys just have very slow reaction times. No, really, it's true. Remember my ex, Gregory?"

She looked up, blinking back tears. No more crying. No more stupidity. She'd listen, she'd think. And Gregory was... "The one you threw a shoe at?"

"Yes. _Slow reaction times_."

"I didn't throw a shoe at him, I kissed him."

"Same basic principle. I'm guessing. If he was surprised, then, well, who knows." Melissa sighed. "I'm not telling you to get your hopes up. Just... don't let them go down either."

"...Thanks."

"What're best friends for?" Melissa yawned and stood up tiredly. "And if it's alright with you, I think I'm going to go to sleep now."

"Good-night, then."

"G'night."

The room was quiet for a minute or so.

"Ali?"

"Mmm?"

"What's his name?"

.-.-.-.-.-.

"I can't look." Alicia held her apron out to her friend. "You do it."

She'd been surprised to find out over the course of, well, yesterday how much she'd wanted to talk about him. When Melissa had spent all that time talking to her about her first boyfriend, the ten-year-old Alicia had just thought it was a Melissa thing, or a fourteen-year-old thing. It was rapidly turning out to be a girl-with-a-huge-crush thing.

And the stability factor by itself was amazing. After a lot of demanding questions and a fair bit of berating, Melissa seemed to have accepted, in the broadest sense of the word, the situation. So Alicia had serious advice now. She wasn't alone. She knew that, now, whatever happened, she could handle it.

It was like what Daddy had said about his friend Ralf: a friend was a pillar that would help lift you up above the mess you'd be in down on the ground. Maybe she would have preferred Presea to be the one holding her hand, but Alicia was still lucky. Very lucky. No matter what happened next, she was lucky.

She might just have a hard time remembering that in a minute.

"Are you sure you want me to?" Melissa grinned hurriedly. "What if it's something horrifically mushy?"

Yesterday morning, Alicia had realized two details resulting from her taking the apron with her. The first was that she'd have to some how to smuggle the apron back into the kitchen. That was fairly easy to fix. The second part was far more aggravating. And nerve-wracking.

On the off-chance that Melissa's Slow Reaction Theory was right, then Alicia had thoroughly cut him off from any sort of reaction at all by taking the apron. Which, any way it was looked at, was not a good thing.

So now, the day after that, in the kitchen early enough for it to be relatively empty, keeping it in mind that he wasn't even supposed to come until that night, Alicia nodded and after swallowing once, said softly, weakly, "Go ahead."

She watched as Melissa reached in the pockets. Pulled out a small, folded piece of paper. Carefully folded, her mind registered dully. Or imagined, being hopeful.

Melissa held it out to her and opened it.

Upside-down.

Alicia took it. Read.

_Alicia, please come back tonight. There is a matter I must speak to you of. _

_R_

Huh.

_Huh._

She was vaguely aware of Melissa speaking, softly calling her name.

Alicia looked at her, feeling oddly calm. Or maybe numb.

"Ali, it's time for work. You want me to tell Cook you're sick? You know how much he'd freak over sanitation."

"No. I'm- I'm okay. Really. Just- you- you-" Alicia swallowed. Took a breath. Handed her best friend the paper. "What does that mean?"

"I only know him through you and the couple of notes you showed me. I can't be sure of nuances. The first part's promising."

The last... well, it made Alicia's mind look through seldom-used sections of her vocabulary, pulling out words like "ominous", "doom-laden" and "foreboding".

"Okay," she said. "It'll be okay."

.-.-.-.-.-.

She kept that in mind throughout a morning of assembling fruit cups for the breakfast crowd, her own breakfast, a late-morning and early afternoon of making sandwiches, her lunch hour, and an hour after that with those preparing the night's desert. In fact, by the time her shift was over for the day, her mood had lightened enough for her to laugh at the "Co-Presidentes" jokes that were finally getting some polish. Or maybe her brain just decided to shut out the possibility of on-coming doom. Either one.

And, strangely, even after a few hours of semi-silent card-games with Melissa in their room, he was calm. Perfectly, absolutely calm. No reason. She was just calm. Wondering how long she would stay that way, but still calm.

"Do you think it's time yet?" Melissa asked her at midnight in a whisper.

Alicia shook her head and laid down a Goddess card on Melissa's King, managing to distract her friend for all of three seconds. She was humored for about fifteen minutes, though.

12:15

"Now?"

12:30

"Now?"

12:45

"Now?"

12:46

"Ali, go. _Now._ Not going at this point is rejection."

Alicia went.

And stopped once she was fairly sure Melissa would think her lack of footsteps meant she was out of hearing distance. She wasn't how sure she stayed there, leaning against the wall, staring half-blindly at the edging in the dark, thinking about everything and anything else than what she should have been thinking of.

Which was stupid. Was she going to make Mommy a liar for saying she had Daddy's common sense? No. No, she wouldn't.

So she didn't.

She continued, stopping only when she heard a very familiar sound.

Footsteps.

Heavy footsteps.

He was pacing.

Pacing people were worried people.

She had to be sadistic or something to be feeling this happy.

She walked closer to the kitchen door as quietly as she could. Peeked in when the pacing stopped, like how she had in the early days, back when she was just trying to catch a glimpse of a stranger.

His back was to her, his shoulders the most tense she had ever seen them. Little things stuck out at her, the tilt of his head, the obvious tension in his arms.

He looked as horrible as she had been feeling for the past few days. He... This was... this was wonderful. _Thanks be to the Goddess, protecting us e'en as she sleeps..._

He turned around.

And there they were again, Alicia and the Rearranger. She in the doorway, he by the counter, almost exactly as they'd been half a year ago. He'd sent a note, asking her to come. Once again, she had. Once again, those ten feet were incredibly long. Only there was one drastically large difference.

The perfect moment came after he turned, unease and discontent vanishing instead of appearing.

But this moment too was by no means long enough.

They looked at each other for what felt like a long while, at least one of them having no idea what to say. Where had her calm gone? Probably the same place as her even pulse and normal breathing pattern, but why now? Why wasn't her left knee feeling like it could support her? Her entire left leg-

"Alicia-"

"I'm sorry," she said quickly, talking to his shoes. "I just- I don't really know what I- I'm sorry."

"Simply promise me you will not run away in the future."

It was after he said this that Alicia did the bravest thing she had ever done in her entire life. Braver than conquering her fear of lighting the cheap matches it was so easy to burn one's finger on. Braver than when at Mommy's funeral she had told the story of how Mommy had sang a song to her and Presea each night without fail. Braver, she thought, than even going to a strange place as a child and not knowing if she would ever go home.

She looked up, blue-eyed gaze meeting blue-eyed gaze. Nodded.

And he looked so relieved.

Feeling unbelievably drained and tired and happy and _relieved_, she smiled at him. And thought for a moment, as he leaned forward slowly, that he was going to-

But then he didn't.

Instead he took her hand and said, "There is something I must tell you."

A small lump of dread reformed in her chest at his too-controlled tone, the tension back in his shoulders. The determined set to his expression. "What?"

"My name is Regal Bryant."

"What?" she said again. She had to have heard that wrong. There wasn't any other- she _had_ to have heard that wrong. Because impersonating a noble of any rank was a serious offence and he wasn't- She'd heard it wrong.

Holding her hand gently, but firmly, in his, he repeated himself. "My name is Regal Bryant."

"As in..." El Presidente Junior. He was El Presidente Junior. The man who any picky eater in the kitchen was compared to, one of the ultimate insults.

"The duke. Yes."

Her mouth was open, but she couldn't get any words out all of a sudden. Couldn't breath in, couldn't say anything. Like her throat was blocked. On some level, it occurred to her that his holding her hand had been a good idea on his part; promise or no promise, she would have been out the door already otherwise.

Finally, in a tone of complete bewilderment, words came tumbling out. "What do I call you?" She added belatedly, awkwardly, hopelessly confused, "Your Grace." That's how common people addressed dukes, wasn't it? Or in her case, their shoes. If she'd thought it hard to look at him before, it was impossible now. This was all just too much. For months she'd been expecting that his name was something no parent should name a child and he'd just been too embarrassed. But this, it was too much. Everything she'd ever heard about nobles seemed to be bumping about inside of her head: nobles got bored easily, they cared more for appearance than substance, they used people, they looked down on those of lower classes while trying for the attention of those higher, they-

"Call me 'Regal'," he told her gently, making an obvious effort at calming her down. "Were we ever to meet in public, 'Master Regal' or 'Mr. Bryant' would be suitable, but I would like you to refer to me by my first name in private."

His voice was the same. And his hand felt the same. And though she'd never stared at his feet before, she had the feeling that they were the same too. It felt wrong in a way, like something should have visibly changed. Nothing could change this much without looking like it had. He liked her, but he couldn't, but she wanted him to and her mind felt like it had broken into bits before running away in eleven different directions. A minute ago, less, she had wanted this person to kiss her; now she thought she would panic if he so much as hugged her.

...She had kissed a duke.

This was insane. She wasn't even fourteen yet, what was she doing here?

"Alicia."

Looking up was just a reaction, something done without thought. But she found she couldn't look away. It was there in his expression, all of it. He didn't want to lose her. She mattered to him.

The reverse was also true.

"Okay." Her voiced sounded wrong to her ears. Her stomach felt like it had been filled with something heavy. The other two times had been warm-ups: _this_ was the hardest thing she would do all night. And if it wasn't, then she would probably faint. "Okay, Regal."

But it was all suddenly very worth it, to see how he looked at her when she said that. "Good."

A slightly awkward moment passed.

"I, uh, I probably should start heading back. My roommate might worry."

He looked slightly surprised – had she ever mentioned having a roommate before? – but accepted it. In one semi-smooth motion, he adjusted his grip on her hand, raised it, and lightly kissed the back of it. "Good-night, Alicia."

How red was it possible for a person to turn? "Good-night, Regal."


	8. Ding!

Pata Hikari: You're going to have to wait and see. Any predictions?

ObviousMan: Well, I try. The shindig's this chapter; for the public meeting, you're going to have to wait.

Dracobolt: Thanks muchly.

WhitterZ: Warning, fuzzies ahead...

Meg: A big thank you and your waiting is over.

Shaddowind: Oddly enough, I used to have a low level of appreciation for Regal, too. Back-story can work wonders on a person's point-of-view.

**End of Response Section**

6/11/05 It only occurred to me recently: I'm writing a tragedy. Anywho, I don't think the next update will come until after I update another fic of mine that I've been ignoring more. I figure that with_ two_ sets of angry reviewers, I'll get on my lazy behind and start typing.

**Disclaimer**: Rallalon does not own Tales of Symphonia. Nor does she own any of its characters, items or locations.

.-.-.-.-.

"I don't believe this," Melissa said in a slight monotone before she began smiling like an idiot. "You snagged a duke."

Feeling like she was about to fly apart in every direction at once, Alicia replied somewhat automatically. "I did not '_snag_ a duke'."

"Yes you did. Something wrong with your hand?"

"What?" She glanced down and realized that she'd been rubbing the back of her hand. Where he'd- How long had she been doing that? "This is insane."

"Yes it is." Melissa gave a little noise that was oddly good at expressing her mood. The effect was somewhat ruined by her quiet mutter of "El Presidente Junior. _El Presidente Junior._"

"Don't call him that," Alicia said, harsher than she'd intended and received a rather offended "Sorry."

"Melissa, I didn't-"

" 'Sokay, Ali. You're freaked out, I get it. But... him. Wow. _Wow_. That's..."

"A complete disaster?"

"Ali it'll be okay. And I know this isn't the most comforting thing to say, but you need to go to sleep."

"Fine," she snapped and flung herself down onto her bed. "Good-night."

"C'mon, Ali, you know I don't mean it like that."

"Like what?" Alicia replied somewhat sulkily, acting very much her age.

"Like I'm your babysitter or something. Never mind about sleep, _kill_ sleep. Talk to me."

Silence for a moment.

"...He's a duke."

"...Yeah."

"What do I do?"

She felt Melissa sit down beside her, and a comforting hand rubbed her back. "Well... I think you're actually handling this well so far."

Alicia had to laugh at that. "How?"

"That it's _his_ status that's the problem, not _yours_."

"..."

"...You never even thought of it that way, did you?"

She shook her head, confused. "Should I have?"

"_No._ No. I know _I_ would have, though, and that means what you're doing is mature."

"..."

"...Ali... Is he... I mean, do you know how... uh..."

Alicia flopped onto her back and looked up at her friend. "How he what?"

"...I, ah… I mean, how serious do you think he is?"

"...I'm not sure. I hope he is, I mean, I, but..."

"The class difference."

"Why me?"

There was a fairly lengthy pause. "Why _not_ you?"

There was a fairly lengthy pause. "Because I'm... _me_?"

"Ali..." Melissa said in her "wise and mature" voice, "it is not a good idea to insult a guy's sense of taste. Or your best friend's, for that matter."

"..."

"...You really like him, don't you." It wasn't a question.

She answered it anyway. "Yeah."

Melissa gave her knee a good strong pat and Alicia thought she was smiling in the dark. "Then it'll be fine."

.-.-.-.-.-.

It was horrible.

That simple.

It. Was. _Horrible._

They were awkward together. They hadn't been awkward together for... a very long time. At least since their almost-date... thing.

She tried. She really, really did try. She'd thought things would be like they had been before. But nothing came easily anymore. She didn't know how to act around him anymore. He wasn't the Rearranger anymore.

Anymore, anymore, anymore.

Nothing was the same.

She worried about what he thought, more than she ever had. What standards was she being held up to? When they cooked together, did it make her seem like she was common? Well, more than she was?

Why was a _duke_ cooking? A security guard, she could have understood. A duke, not at all.

And there was no way in Tethe'alla that she could make even the first part of the first move. He was far too much of a gentleman to do anything without a cue from her. And so, they were at an impasse.

Strange how once her two questions - What was his name? Why didn't he tell it to her? - were answered, so many more kept popping up. She wanted the world to just shut itself off for a while, for things to go back to the way they had been, to work through this, to get out of this now before it blew up in their faces, to go to him and tell him that she would do whatever it took to be with him, to...

To do far too much more than a thirteen-year-old girl could handle.

And so, she did none of it. Stalling wouldn't help anything, she knew that. But it did give her time to think. And she really needed time to think.

They didn't work well together anymore. She could cook with the Rearranger, correct him, laugh with him, watch him. She knew him. She didn't know Regal Bryant. It was like there were two separate people, one of which was human and charming and wonderful, the other untouchable.

The truth was, he was still the same person he had always been, but Alicia had turned awkward and shy. She worried, she fretted. Was she good enough? Did he think she only wanted to be with him because of his status now?

Because she did want to be with him. The first him. It was the Rearranger who she had helped and thought about. The Rearranger had been her first kiss.

Duke Bryant scared her.

She was sure Co-President Bryant would scare her more.

She was going to find out very soon, considering that she was currently at work on appetizers for the, in Cook's words, "Grand Event". Or "that idiotic shindig". The name for it was rather mood dependent.

"Ali? You good?"

Alicia swallowed. "I'm good."

"...You know, maybe we could sneak in there and-"

"No." She sighed. Melissa's attempt was only a half-hearted one. Both of them would be in the kitchen until dinner was over for the gathering of nobles, along with the rest of the kitchen workers. Of course, except for...

"Maybe we could be servers. I could probably talk Gregory around into it - he's interested in me again, it might work..." Melissa mumbled, but by this point, they both knew it to be idle speculation. It wasn't happening. The one person she'd ever had any romantic interest in was climbing further up the untouchable ladder. Seeing it happen wouldn't make any difference.

Alicia shrugged the idea off and feigned acceptance.

And so the night began.

.-.-.-.-.-.

And it never seemed to end. If anything, it was only lengthened by attempts to lighten the mood. Especially when the attempt was coming from Melissa's ex-boyfriend.

"I'm telling you, it's hilarious."

"Gregory Tate, this isn't the time..."

"Melissa, please, just let me show you how he-"

"Later."

"Melissa, darling, you wound me-"

"Then I'll be sure to help heal you - later."

"Ah, my darling, you honor me too much-"

"Get out there, Tate! Stop distracting the help!"

"-And so, with great reluctance, I bid you farewell... You have only to fling your shoe in my general direction, I will return to you-"

"Tate!"

"Goin', Cook!"

Alicia kept her eyes on her task of the moment, trying not to notice how much Melissa was grinning. Gregory was a flirt, and an obvious one. It wasn't fair that guys like Gregory Tate got to-

No.

She wasn't going to think about things that way. She wasn't. She would be happy for Melissa.

She would.

"So what was he talking about?"

Melissa shrugged. "Who knows, the guy's an idiot." It didn't sound like she meant it, though. Maybe it was her tone of voice... Maybe it was because she couldn't stop smiling. "I'll tell you once he tells me."

"Okay."

Back to work.

She'd never been so single-minded about cooking before. Always, there had been something she would think about in the back of her mind, hovering there, distracting her pleasantly.

This was no pleasant distraction.

She didn't allow it to be a distraction at all, stopped it from being one.

At least, she tried.

.-.-.-.-.-.

After far too long, the night was over. Dinner was not only served, it had been eaten long ago. Even dessert was becoming only a memory. In short, the "Event" was done, over with, and would never directly bother anyone ever again. Alicia just wanted to go to bed, fall asleep, and stay there.

Forever.

But then there was Gregory.

Alicia had been through the situation before: Gregory would want to walk Melissa back to their room. Melissa would accept, politely. By the time they got to the room, the welcome would have grown warmer than just polite. Melissa and Gregory would spend time outside the door, Gregory catching her arm every time she "tried" to go inside. Everyone who heard the pair knew that the effort was only an obligatory one that could and would be ignored by the both of them. If anything, it would only inspire more shameless compliments from Gregory. Eventually, their "conversation" would dissolve into another activity, the sound of which was harder to sleep through than the far louder noise of Gregory's blatant flirting.

Hence Alicia not going back to their room.

Besides, the Sky Terrace was always nice; with the stars out, it would probably be much more so. It'd be peaceful. She needed that.

Even if the stars _weren't _out as she had hoped, there was still something about being outside. Looking over the short wall, breathing in the salty air, she felt better. She actually felt relaxed. For the first time in days, Alicia thought that she could manage things, work through them, make them work. It was a good feeling, being optimistic again. Besides, it wasn't like-

_Ding!_

The elevator! Quickly, she darted into the middle area of the terrace, where there were things to hide behind. Silliness was long past; Gregory Tate or not, breaking curfew on a night like tonight was more than stupid.

And yet... part of her hoped and prayed that a certain person would be getting out of that elevator. What she would do if he did, she didn't know.

But...

It wasn't him. A couple exited the elevator, obviously nobles by their clothes, lit for a moment by the light from the open elevator. From behind her plant, she couldn't make out their faces. For a moment, fear gripped her.

But those weren't his footsteps.

Three guesses as to what they were doing up on the Terrace at night, together. The first two don't count.

Alicia couldn't leave without attracting notice and her hiding spot was more than decent in the star-less dark. It didn't seem like they would be looking in her direction very often anyway. Choosing to wait them out, she quickly decided that stuffing her fingers in her ears would be... polite.

But less than a minute later, she heard another _ding!_, muffled by her fingers.

She heard the couple break apart.

She saw light pour out into a corner of the Terrace, a long shadow be thrown down.

She closed her eyes and stayed as still as she could.

Even with her ears plugged and the other two nobles hastily explaining that they had come up to see the garden under the moonlight and would now be going as it was cloudy and wouldn't he give their best wishes to his father, she still heard it.

Heavy footsteps.

The couple now gone - all the guests were supposed to have left some time ago, it was discourteous to sneak away from the group in the first place, he would be happy to show them about tomorrow if they wanted a tour, his best wishes to both of them and he would be sure to pass theirs on to his father - she tentatively peaked around her plant at the new arrival. It would be too... perfect. Too impossible to actually happen...

The man stood with his back to her, standing at the wall, shoulders tense. Everything about him spoke of noble blood, the purest of the pure. Even with the little light, it was clear he was finely dressed, the clothes accented by his posture in some way that was beyond her comprehension.

This was no teenaged Rearranger. This was an adult.

He turned, a shadowed face scanning the garden. A voice called out softly. "Alicia?"

She nearly fell out of her hiding place. As it was, her exit wasn't exactly dignified.

Silence reigned.

"You knew I was up here?"

He nodded in the dimness. "I overheard a young woman speaking with her companion."

Melissa was officially the best friend in the world.

Alicia didn't ask where he had been where he had overheard. He had been looking for her; that much was clear. And if she was honest, she had been hoping he would be.

A few footsteps brought her to his side. What she was doing there, she hadn't any idea. That was fairly normal by now. She would know what to say to the Rearranger; she would know what to do then.

Not knowing what to say to Regal Bryant, her gaze went to his shoes.

Luckily or unluckily, he knew what he was going to say. "Alicia, if this is too uncomfortable for you... that's fine. I don't wish to force you into something that you-"

Two small hands found a large one in the dark, clung to it.

A girl looked up into a man's eyes and became a young woman.

"It's not. I just needed to think about things and... and I've done that thinking. So... if you... if you'll have me, I want to be with you."

Gently, fingertips brushed against her cheek, stayed there.

A man and a young woman leaned towards each other.

"I would be honored, Alicia."

Two small hands loosened their hold on a large one only to cling to it more intensely a moment later.

A man and a young woman came to an understanding.

"I'm glad, Regal."

Gently, fingertips changed into fingers, cupping her cheek.

A man kissed a young woman.

For one long, perfect moment, all thought left her.

And after one long, perfect moment...

It was a quiet sound, but also a pronouncement of something similar to doom.

_Ding!_

Quite abruptly, she found herself against his chest, a protective arm around her, and the pair of them turned so anyone looking from the elevator would only see his back, if they saw anything at all. It was the elevator on the other side, that's where the light was coming from. She heard Regal's breathing be forced into its calm, normal pattern, felt him breathe. Alicia tried to do the same and all she did was learn that he smelled far too wonderful for his own good.

"Ali! Are you up here?" A whisper, quiet and urgent. "Ali! Emergency!"

Something very unpleasant was going to happen to Gregory Tate.

Both regretfully and hurriedly, Alicia pulled away from him, slipped under his arm. He didn't understand, didn't know that she was Ali. She'd released his hand, but he held on. Because if they _did_ stay still, Melissa wouldn't find them, provided she didn't come any further into the Terrace. Another perfect moment was right there, waiting.

"Alicia Combatir, where are you!" Melissa raised her voice only slightly, but her tone yelled that something was wrong.

Regal let her go.

Alicia ran.

"I'm here! What's wrong?" Even blinking against the light, she could see Melissa was in a panic.

"Ali, he-" She paused for a moment, seemed to rethink saying this right away. "You shouldn't be up here. We shouldn't, I mean. C'mon, I tell you in our room."

"Melissa, what-"

Melissa pulled her into the elevator and it _ding!_ed shut.

"-happened?"

As they went down, Melissa wasn't paying any attention to what Alicia was saying. She was walking around her, inspecting her from all angles, snapping at her if Alicia turned around to look at her or ask what she was doing.

"You're alright, Ali?"

"What?" she asked, confused by the question. Anyone could see which one of the pair was the one freaking out. "Yeah, I-I'm fine."

"You're sure? Nothing-"

"Melissa, what happened?" The young woman of a moment ago was rapidly becoming a frightened girl. "Gregory didn't do anything to you or-"

"No, Ali, Gregory just told me- I'll tell you when we get to our room."

"Wh-why? What is it?"

Melissa looked as if she might have caved for a second, but she didn't give in. "I need to tell you this in private."

"We're in an elevator. How much more private-"

_Ding!_

.-.-.-.-.-.

Alicia closed the door to their room behind her. "Okay, Melissa, what is it?"

"Sit down."

She obeyed and Melissa sat next to her, held her hand. "Tell me _now_. You're really starting to scare me."

And so, without any comforting preamble, Melissa said, "Duke Bryant is twenty-one years old."

Confused and frightened and numb all at once, Alicia looked at her friend for any sign of a lie, pulling her hand away. "…What?"

"Duke Bryant is twenty-one years old," Melissa repeated, pity and anger on her face. Pity for her, anger for him. "Since two days ago."

"But... Regal?_ Regal_ Bryant?"

Very softly this time, Melissa told her. "He's eight years older than you. Seven and a half, roughly. I thought that he had to be older than sixteen or seventeen before, but I didn't know he was..." She trailed off.

Alicia stared at her before pleading with both her eyes and voice. "...Tell me you're lying. Please, just... just tell me you're lying."

Melissa didn't tell her that. "Sometimes nobles are... you know... All that inbreeding must make them romantically unstable and all... Ali, it's not like... it's not like he's a pedophile or..."

"..."

"But... I don't think you should see him anymore."

"..."

Melissa didn't say anything else after that. She just opened her arms, held them out to her. Alicia threw herself into them, buried her face in her friend's shoulder and cried.

And that long, horrible moment never seemed to end.


	9. Many questions and one answer

Pata Hikari: Now _there_ is the reaction I was aiming for!

Anderson Reborn: Nope, I'm still alive, and I'm writing until the point where Alicia no longer is.

IamNoOne: Thanks. And, yeah, he rather is.

Dracobolt: I _had_ thought about ending it at the kiss, but I thought it would be more effective to immediately rip the newly given fluff away.

ObviousMan: Oddly enough, the age difference was the main reason for my writing this. The first time I beat the game and saw Regal and Presea standing at her grave, I had a "Holy crud" moment at Presea being 28 when Regal was 34. I'd been expecting her older than that - so Alicia could be older as well - and it came as more than a bit of a shock. 

Fanniest Fan fan of Rallalon (a.k.a., "ty-rant84". A.k.a. "the Melissa to my Alicia"): I want you to know that you really did scare me.

Kenny: Give in to the alliteration and join the Dark Side. (We have cookies.) 

WhitterZ: Conflict leads to plot. You're getting a plot.

Meg: Fluff? What is this "fluff" you speak of?

**End of Response Section**

6/21/05 You know you're addicted to Regalicia when:

You take up yet _another_ character in a RP just to see the resulting Regalicia fluff.

You entertain conversations between Regal, Alicia, and/or Melissa in the back of your head.

You entertain conversations of Melissa chewing Regal out for being a pedophile and a jerk in the back of your head when you're supposed to be doing something.

You can't work on the other fic you said you'd work on because of the need for more Regalicia.

You convert someone who's never played ToS into a Regalicia fan.

You then proceed to squee with said new Regalicia fan.

You think up this list.

And so on.

Much love to my editor. Ty-rant84 is teh win.

**Disclaimer: **Rallalon does not own Tales of Symphonia or any of its characters, places or items.

.-.-.-.-.-.

Even the longest moment, the most horrible moment, must end. It had no choice but to do so.

The only question was when.

Eventually, Alicia had drifted off to sleep. Waking up had been wonderful. The first thing she remembered was the kiss. For a short, glorious while, the world had been perfect, only a nagging feeling at the back of her mind telling her otherwise.

Then she woke Melissa up.

The older girl looked up at her, sleepy yet concerned.

And the world had come crashing back down.

How could she have forgotten? Tired didn't always mean silly, and that had just been stupid! And she'd... she'd wanted to see him again. She'd been looking forward to it, wondering when.

It wasn't fair! A guy like- like _him_ was interested in her and he-! He shouldn't have been old! It wasn't how these things were supposed to work. It just... _wasn't._

But he _was _old.

And that wasn't going to change.

And now it was all she had to think about because injury had been added to insult: she was sick. There was no way around it. Alicia was sick. She knew that she should have been sleeping more, and there was no doubt that things with Regal had been making her fairly stressed – as opposed to now, where they were making her _very _stressed. Still, it wasn't like things had been _that_ bad.

Her body didn't accept her reasoning.

There was something about the sick room that forced a person to come to terms with illness. The room was sparsely furnished, just a bed and a nightstand, along with a lamp and a chair for visitors. As a member of the kitchen staff, being sick didn't just mean being sick. No, that would be too simple. Being sick meant being kept away from all other workers in order to keep contamination to a minimum. It meant staying in isolation until she was better. Alicia knew this was smart and right and protocol.

Well, healthy Alicia did. Achy, tired, dizzy Alicia just took this as adding insult to injury to insult.

...Did that even make sense?

It wasn't her fault that she wasn't making sense.

Really.

It wasn't.

Not really.

...Hmm...

She was bored.

And her head was throbbing, making it hard to think.

But that was better than thinking about it, wasn't it? If she didn't think about his age, then she didn't have to deal with it and so everything would be all right in its own aching way. She didn't have to think about how he was all _old_ and-

No. She wouldn't start crying. She would _not_ start-

Laughing? No, she was laughing _and_ crying, but that didn't make sense.

Goddess Martel, she was getting hysterical. On one level, she wasn't very surprised. Just the smell of the sick room was enough to give a healthy person a headache after a few minutes. She'd been there over-night already. But this was-

Okay, okay. She'd calm down.

Right now.

_Right - now_.

Because otherwise she'd start coughing again-

Too late.

"Ali? You okay?" a slightly muffled voice asked, its owner quickly closing the door behind her.

The coughing girl nodded rapidly, a little too rapidly for her head. Melissa helped her into a sitting position, patting her back, holding up a glass of water for her.

"Can you talk?"

Alicia shook her head no.

"Well, if you think about it, Ali, it could be worse," the older girl remarked dryly, pulling at the strings holding a cloth mask over her mouth and nose. "You could be wearing a visitor's mask."

It quickly turned out that laughing caused her to cough as well. That really shouldn't have been that funny, but right now next to everything was either tragic or hilarious.

...Hilarious... Something hilarious...

Gregory. He'd been talking about something hilarious, what, two nights ago now?

Communicating would have been so much easier if Melissa had thought to bring paper, but eventually Alicia got the question across with minimal wheezing.

"Oh. That. ...Nothing much really."

Alicia put on her bored face. Was Melissa being a little awkward? How _were_ things between her and Gregory?

"All right. Well... It's really nothing much. Some old noble just kept coughing on another guy for most of that event and insisting that he keep speaking with him or something."

Alicia cocked her head to the side. How was that funny?

Melissa shrugged, whatever discomfort having now passed. "Guys find strange things funny."

Alicia gave what she hoped passed for a wise nod and a thought struck her. Who'd gotten coughed on?

Melissa completely failed to get the question. "No, I don't really think so," she replied, laughing a little. "Anyway, Ali, my time's up. No offense or anything, but I'm not really supposed to be in here for... Well, any time at all. I brought you a book; it's not the best read, but it'll keep you busy."

And with that Alicia was left alone with _The Rise and Fall of King Tethe'alla XI_.

...Being busy was over-rated.

.-.-.-.-.-.

"Say 'ahh', Combatir."

"Ahhh- Ugh-"

"'Ahh', Combatir, not 'ugh'," instructed the nurse again.

"AhhhHHHH..."

"There we go. Hmm... Everything seems to be clearing up nicely. One more day in here and you should be good to go."

"That's great news," Alicia said with feeling, by now thoroughly unable to stand the sick room any longer. "Thank you."

"What's better news is that we kept this contained. Less than a dozen sick, and if you remember what happened last time..."

The pair each gave a joking shudder, and the nurse continued, "I must say, you're bouncing back a little later than most, so I'll be checking in on you in a week. The only other person still sick is Master Bryant–"

Alicia felt like the bottom of her stomach had dropped out.

"–and that's because the man refuses to take a few days off from work. Stubborn as a noble, as they say."

"Stubborn as a noble," Alicia mumbled after her. Just because... There were two Master Bryants, after all. And even- even if it _was_ her Bry- _that_ Bryant... There was no reason to feel that way, like she should go to him or–

No reason to feel that way. No reason at all.

"I'll see you in a week, Combatir."

"Bye..."

.-.-.-.-.-.

Over the course of that night, Alicia was able to piece something together. The coughing noble had gotten Re- _Master Bryant_ sick. _Master Bryant_ had then passed it onto her by accident. Melissa hadn't wanted to bring him up, hence the awkwardness.

The problem was that once Alicia got thinking, she wasn't prone to stopping.

Why? That was the first thought. Then it exploded into about a thousand others.

Why hadn't he told her his age? Did he think she already knew?

Why would he think that? Maybe it was a noble thing. Well, a lot of people knew stuff about nobles, just because. He might have assumed that knowing his name translated to knowing his age as well. Which would be why he hadn't told her his name for a long while.

Why _had _he told her? Well, she'd kissed him and so implied that she wanted a relationship that was more than they had already. A romantic one. Even if there hadn't really been any thought involved when doing the implying, she still had implied it. Well, not show much "implied" as "blatantly shoved it in his face". So he must have decided that if they were going to have that sort of relationship, she'd have to know.

Why would he want a relationship with a girl eight years his junior? They didn't really do much together, really. They just cooked and talked and went to a grand total of three plays. The end. Just because they could tell each other whatever came to mind without having to worry about embarrassing themselves, just because he smiled when he saw her and she used to smile when she so much as _thought_ about him, just because he seemed to like holding her hand just as much as she did his, just because it had felt like he was willing to protect her from anything and everything when he'd held her on the Terrace, just because he'd been willing to let her go when he thought she was uncomfortable over the age aspect as well as the nobility one...

It didn't mean that he was...

He was...

_He was_.

He was in love with her.

At least, she thought he was.

She hoped he was.

...So really, there was only one question left worth thinking about.

It required surprisingly little thought.

.-.-.-.-.-.

"Melissa?"

"Mmm..."

"Are you up?"

"Uh-uhn."

"I really need you to be up."

"Mmff..."

"..."

"Pillow. Back. Now!"

"Melissa, I... um. There's, ah..."

"Wha... Ali? Why are you up? It's _night_, when people_ sleep_. Wait, are you okay? I can get the nurse if you need me to. Martel, I _knew_ they were letting you come back early-"

"Melissa! I'm- I'm okay. Really. I just... I wanted to ask you something."

"Shoot."

"..."

"Ali?"

"Melissa, when did you... _know_?"

"...Know what?"

"_Know_... with Gregory? That you..."

"...Oh Martel. Ali, you're too-"

"I know that."

"You're not even fourteen for Goddess' sake!"

"...I know that."

"You- You… _can't_. It doesn't work that way. Alicia Combatir, listen to me-"

"Melissa, I-"

"Goddess, you're serious. You're really serious. You... You... Do you?"

"...I do."

"..."

"Melissa...?"

"I need to lie down."

"You're already lying down."

"I need to lie down more. Or maybe get up. No, I'm staying down here."

"..."

"...Ali? Are you cry-"

"No, I'm _not_."

"Ali, I... Look, I know you want me to support you in this, but... It's not good, Ali, please see that."

"...I know it's not good. And... I'm going to deal with that."

"_Alicia, listen to me._ Some things just don't work out. Your first crush lasted over half a year; that's good for someone your age-"

"Melissa, _you_ listen-"

"-but this is just _not good_. You're smart; you should be able to see that-"

"I _do_ see that-"

"_Do _you?"

"I..."

"...Do you, Ali?"

"...Yes. I do."

"...You're not even fourteen."

"I know. But I still... We still..."

"...Ali... say it and I'll believe you. I'll even try to help you, if I can, but I'm not going to believe you until you actually say it."

"I love him. I love Regal Bryant."

"..."

"I really do. And it scares the heck out of me, but that's okay, because I really do love him. ...But I am really scared, Melissa. I need you to be with me on this."

"...Holy shhh-rimp."

"...Yeah."

"Whew... That's..."

"I know."

"...All right, Ali. I'll stand by you, but you are _insane_. Martel better protect the both of you lunatics."

And that was the best blessing Melissa could have given.


	10. Dance in the Sunshine, run from seaweed

Zelda's Fox 38: The gel thing was a joke some of my friends have, like they're the cough syrup of ToS.

MrAndersonMan: "Fluff"? It's the fluffy, happy, romance stuff that will show up in this fic fleetingly before running away again.

Master Kenny: Sickness is a bit of a plot device, but, hey, it works. Guess what I listened to while writing this? (Regal seriously needs a better theme.)

Dracobolt: Thanks and- ARG! MY HAND!11!one!

Just Some TOS fan...: In the game, Regal is 34 (so says the official art book) and Presea is 28 (so says the Presea at the end of the game). As Presea is Alicia's older sister, I'm giving them an age difference of roughly a year and a half. This means that Regal is seven and a half years older than Alicia in my fanon. However, it is canon, not fanon, that he must be _at least_ six years older. I've done the math. In fact, doing the math is what inspired this fanfic. There are also in-game clues as to Alicia's death date. I am taking all of these into consideration when I write so that I am keeping as close to canon as I can, though I know that I am straying from the original story of the Presea Flower. Still, this doesn't change how Regal is not seventeen, and I will not make him seventeen unless I make Alicia four years younger as well. And that this point in the story, it's a little late to do even were that to be a good idea. The age difference remains. Thank you for your input.

****

End of Response Section

7/23/05 I was writing part of this while listening to the ToS soundtrack. I wrote the words "when she saw Regal" and Regal's theme started playing. A bit odd.

This is my longest chapter so far. It just kept writing itself, something very rare, very pleasant.

****

Disclaimer: Rallalon does not own Tale of Symphonia or any of its characters, places, or items.

.-.-.-.-.-.

There was a part of her that still wondered why.

But there was a much larger part of her that simply said "why not".

And so, she went. The first time she saw him again, there'd been an additional nerve-wracking element that she hadn't taken into consideration.

When Melissa had gotten her off the Terrace all those days ago, she'd done so with the aid of an "emergency". Obviously, Regal had been concerned.

Also obviously, Alicia couldn't tell him what the problem had been. Well, she could, but... referring to his age as an emergency wouldn't exactly be a good way to start off this stage of their relationship.

However, that was where Gregory Tate came in. It was very easy to pass _that_ particular individual off as a dire crisis. So Melissa had panicked over her boyfriend, because... because it had sounded like he was... erm, proposing. And Melissa definitely wasn't ready for that and panicked. But it turned out that he hadn't been. It had just sounded like that. Everything was all right.

"I see. You're sure?"

Alicia smiled up at him. "Completely. And you're better?"

He looked slightly taken aback "You knew I was sick?"

"Word gets around."

And so, things went back to normal. Or perhaps, as close to the old normal as they were going to get.

Despite how Regal was now far busier, meaning they saw each other far less, the increased amount of sleep was a help. In one way, it was probably for the best. Alicia knew that she would happily wear herself out, if it meant she would be able to spend time with him. In fact, Alicia knew she would do most anything to be able to spend time with Regal.

It was a little frightening, to be so dependent on a person. She didn't consider herself to be an incredibly independent person, but... after nearly five years of working as a kitchen hand, three years since last contact with her family, she wasn't sure to react to needing someone. She knew she'd never be able to explain what she felt. A long time ago, she'd asked Melissa what it was like to be in love. Melissa hadn't been able to explain well. It had just sounded nice, all fanciful and truly something to inspire a pair of girls to giggle late into the night.

That had been a little less than a year ago. That had been before Regal.

She couldn't stop thinking about him. She felt like there was something else she was supposed to be doing and couldn't be doing it, no matter what task occupied her attention at the moment. Her mind kept straying back to him, counting the hours, tucking away memories of snippets of conversations with the idea that it might be something she and Regal could talk about.

Alicia was in love.

She was in love with Regal, down to his last nuance.

Melissa had once told her that when she was younger, she'd had a crush that she hadn't really seen, not as a person. They had just been the idea of a perfect person, her perfect person. Melissa had found out later that she hadn't known them at all. She'd just been drawn in by mere infatuation.

Alicia knew Regal. She knew his faults and accepted them. They were what made Regal who he was. The force behind what she thought to be a too-strong belief in religion was the same as the one that allowed him to take everyone seriously, no matter who they were. The cause of his workaholic nature was the same dedication that made her feel as if she was as important to him as he was to her. There was a thought to cause giggling, if not outright swooning.

Not that Alicia would ever swoon. Even for Regal, there were limits.

But the point was that Regal was a real, flesh-and-blood person to her. A real flesh-and-blood person who just happened to be amazing, handsome, funny, and intelligent, and would also be a better cook than she ever would be if he kept improving at this rate. A real flesh-and-blood person with whom a conversation on the Church of Martel in general and redemption in particular was always a bad idea, who could clam up unexpectedly and be fine moments later without telling her what was wrong, who had a reluctance telling her what was bothering him -- as if it wasn't important enough.

No, Regal was very much real to her. She'd like to think that he'd been since a plate of chicken and rice had been placed on a counter for her with a note, in a way that was completely and utterly like him. Quiet, to the point, yet thoughtful with a hint of playfulness. She'd had to wash the plate and silverware, hadn't she?

There were times when she wondered what he saw in her. Alicia would never be beautiful like how Presea must be by now, or even like how Melissa was. She'd long ago settled for just being "pretty" or "cute". She didn't even really know how to be a girl. She knew how to be some kid in Ozette, how to chop wood and stack the cart. She wasn't all that smart, like how Horace had been. She wasn't musically talented at all, like Presea and Horace's sister Janet.

As far as Alicia could tell she had two things going for her. She could carve wood, like all Combatir family members could. This wasn't, however, something Regal would particularly care about. More importantly, she could cook like Mommy.

And every time she thought about it, that was where she left off. Their mutual love for the kitchen had turned into a mutual love for each other.

There was, of course, the slight issue that neither of the two had never so much as told the other that they were even moderately fond of the other. Not aloud, anyway.

She'd been planning on saying it right away. Just three words, but so much more. She wanted to tell him, let him delight in it with her. She'd been nervous, true, but... When it came down to it, that wasn't why she had stayed silent.

Alicia had looked at him, and the words became useless. Just words, just sounds, just pointless utterings used for ordinary conversation.

And Regal had looked at her. She wondered later, what he had seen in her expression.

She hoped it was the same as what she had seen in his.

Alicia had been in his arms a moment later, smiling against his chest, the side of his head resting on the top of hers. She could feel her heart pounding, hear it in her ears. She could feel Regal's heart pounding.

After a moment, she'd had to pull away, filled up with too much excited energy to stay still. She'd smiled up at him, and he'd returned it, abet slightly uncertainly. Alicia had kissed him then. There wasn't much else she could've done at that point. What was the point of words?

Quiet, to the point, with more than a hint of playfulness. That was what they were together. Whatever thoughtfulness came from Regal's side was countered by Alicia's penchant for doing unexpected things that seemed to refuse to turn out how she'd planned them.

Which was probably why it was a relief that Regal was the one who had offered a certain tentative plan.

"Alicia, when is your next day off?"

She loved how he would always ask, instead of simply going ahead and checking from the company database. "A full day, you mean?" At his nod, she responded with "In three days. Why?"

He looked somewhat disappointed. His expression quickly changed, letting Alicia know that he was serious about whatever this was, as well as nervous. Regal looked at her for a moment more before saying, "I would like to meet you."

__

I would like to meet you, Alicia. May I?

"You mean, outside of the kitchen? During the day?" Like an actual date?

The tension disappeared from Regal's shoulders, for the most part. It was always there, these days, but it showed how heavily this must have been weighing on his mind. He gave her a smile, and a nod.

"But I take it that you're busy then..."

"When else are you available?"

Fairly soon, the pair had drawn up a hurried calendar in a vain attempt of merging Regal's hectic schedule and Alicia's rather non-eventful one.

"How about then?"

"I've a meeting with Peter Vharley, the Exsphere broker. He refuses to be rescheduled." By the look on Regal's face, he'd already tried to do so, possibly several times. "How about..." He tapped one of the squares on the paper with his index finger.

"Regal, that's a holiday," she told him, surprised that he'd even suggest it.

"Then won't it work?" He sounded nearly as surprised as she felt.

"It's a holiday with the closest thing to a feast I'll ever see for dinner, a horrifically difficult lunch, and, well, fasting from morning until noon. But that's when lunch is being prepared and dinner started."

He looked vaguely impressed, as if he'd never wondered as to whom was cooking all that food on the holidays. "Won't work."

"Won't work," she agreed. "And you said you'd be gone on a trip from here -" She slid a finger from one square to another. " - to here." At his nod, she crossed the squares out. She then handed the pencil over, and he crossed out yet another row.

"How about then?"

She looked to where he was pointing and tapped the square after it, smiling at the memory of a plate of chicken and rice. Their anniversary. "Then."

He looked at her questioningly. "I'm sure that it was the day before... The night before, rather."

Alicia considered this and realized what the matter was with a laugh. "It was for you. It was two-thirty in the morning the for me."

Regal smiled and accepted having a two-day anniversary. "Are you free either day?"

"I don't think so- Oh. Melissa's off on the second day. My roommate," she clarified.

"The one with a Gregory Tate?"

Regal had the amazing ability to say little, unimportant things that showed just how much attention he paid to her, without even realizing he did. And usually in a tone that said he would always be on her side.

"Yeah. I should be able to switch with someone..." Renley -- a man in his early twenties with no first name that she knew -- shared her next day off after that day. If Alicia remembered correctly, Melissa had said something about dreading her next day off because Renley was all the woman she shared the day with would talk about. She couldn't remember the woman's name, but Melissa's stories of all her attempts to loose the woman for some peace and quiet were certainly stuck in her mind.

Renley was going to kill her if he ever found out she'd switched with that woman on purpose.

Or name her godmother to the firstborn, depending.

"With Melissa?"

"Melissa's my excuse." She continued with a smile, "I can't very well take a day off just to meet someone I don't know I'm going to meet, can I?"

"We're settled then?"

"Completely. When do I get to see you next?"

"How does three nights from now sound?"

"Far too long away," she replied honestly, "but I can deal with that."

"If only I could as well."

She gave a light laugh and the pair parted after what could only be called a private moment.

"See you in a month and a half, stranger."

.-.-.-.-.-.

It was a hot day in the resort of Altamira, a well-known seaside paradise. Enthusiastic screams came from the theme park, laughter from the beach. _Dance in the Sunshine_ was heard from the many speakers, the staff having repaired the damage caused by the jingle incident a few months back. A few people stood up on benches and belted out the annoying melody, but were quickly pelted by fistfuls of seaweed.

People of the higher class lounged on the beach, sipping cool drinks as their children ran amuck in the water, doing their best to ignore the mere servants who'd been let loose for the day.

"I got it!" A girl of fourteen hit the ball back to her friend, bare feet leaving imprints in hot sand.

"No you don't!" the other girl called, a young woman of eighteen. "Oops!"

The ball flew back over the younger girl's head, close enough for her to think she might be able to reach it were she to lean back farther, farther, running backwards...

"Wahh- Oof!"

"Ali, you okay?" her friend asked, laughing as she jogged to her side. "You completely back-planted there."

"'Mokay..." Alicia replied getting up slowly. If she hadn't still been wet from her swim earlier, the sand would've really burned.

Melissa started laughing. "You-your back... Martel, this is priceless."

"What?" Alicia asked, trying to look. She'd been freaking out all morning, wondering when Regal would show.

"Your back is completely covered in sand. I mean, _completely_. Go wash off." Melissa made a shoving motion with her hands toward the ocean. "Shoo. I'll grab the ball." She paused an added quietly, "Give him a little longer. He probably doesn't recognize you in a swimsuit."

If anyone commented on Alicia's face being red, she could always blame it on sunburn. A hand going to the Octagon-Shell Turtle Twins charm at her throat and checking to see that the twine of the necklace was still as it should be, she splashed in, diving under once she was up to her waist. Alicia would never be overly fond of swimming, but with the charm of safety her sister had made for her before she'd left to live on this island was something that she loved to use. It made her feel like, no matter where she was, her big sis was looking out for her.

She came back up, opening her eyes carefully and glad that she had her hair tied back into pigtails. Though, she realized as she felt one, they were really gritty from all the sand. Seeing Melissa coming in after her, Alicia sunk down into the waves, her feet and a hand searching. The temptation was too great, even for her.

"See, that's better, isn't-"

People got this wonderful expression when seaweed was thrown at them. Alicia had noticed that often there was a pause, no matter how slight, before the reaction set in. In some cases, it was long enough for the one who threw the slimy gunk to slip away.

In other cases, it wasn't.

"Alicia Combatir!" Melissa shrieked, throwing it back at her.

Then they were chucking the stuff back and forth at each other, experiencing the familiar sensation of the weed's green, watery juices trailing down their arms. They'd been doing this for years, the first seaside game a twelve-year-old had taught a girl of eight. It had to be one of the oldest beach game there were. It was silly and completely undignified.

Which was why Alicia froze so completely when she saw Regal heading down the beach in their general direction.

"Jeez, Ali, you're supposed to move out of the way!" Melissa laughed, watching her sputter and pull the green mass off her head. She then followed the younger girl's gaze, looking back quickly when she saw him. "C'mon, let's go dry off," she said, starting to get out of the water.

"Right," Alicia replied, suddenly nervous, still holding the seaweed.

But not for long.

Once again, her name was yelled, and Alicia made a dash for the nearest human shield.

Regal looked rather surprised to find her behind him, laughing out "Hide me! Hide me!" with Melissa protesting the use of a bystander for cover.

"All right, all right," Alicia replied to her friend before giving Regal a smile and a "Sorry about that. We get a little carried away sometimes."

"Sometimes?" Regal questioned, in one of his playful moods.

There was a moment of awkwardness, but it was soon to pass. For pretending to be strangers, they didn't much act as if they were. In short order, the pair had become a trio, splashing about and talking. When Regal had taken off his shirt to go into the water, Alicia had looked away to the best of her ability. A short while later, with Melissa nudging her in the side with her elbow, she had claimed sunburn when asked why she was so red.

Alicia had guessed before, but now she was sure: Regal worked out.

One of the conditions about this date was that they wouldn't officially tell each other who they were. Alicia was the one who had put this requirement in place. It wasn't proper for a noble to deliberately fall in- to socialize with a commoner. That, and it was keeping truer to how they had met, for the real first time.

Far too soon, it was time for lunch, the day slipping away from them already. Melissa invited Regal to join them, knowing full well what she was doing. They'd packed a small cooler in the morning, guessing that they'd eat on the beach.

And, of course, they'd backed enough for more than two people. After all, it was very important to eat enough when one was exercising all day, Melissa explained. Hydrated, too. Would Ali mind grabbing the drinks?

Actually, Alicia did mind, but she took the small purse of Gald to the drink stand anyway. Melissa probably just wanted to get to know him and make sure he was good for her. She could've just taken Alicia's opinion, but then again, Alicia had never taken hers on Tate. There was, of course, how it was utterly ridiculous to compare Regal with Tate, but that was a matter that could be put aside for the moment.

She came back and found the pair sitting in silence. Regal was unreadable, but Melissa smiled broadly at her and gave her a look that clearly said that she approved as much as she could under the circumstances. It was a good lunch that followed, though Regal seemed a little more guarded than he had been before.

Alicia was beginning to find that Regal opened up to her far more than she had ever thought he did. It wasn't that he seemed to dislike Melissa. Rather, it was like he was suddenly treading very carefully and wasn't quite sure what a wrong step would be.

Melissa could have that affect on people sometimes.

As the three finished up their meal, Regal offered the idea of walking around a little and then going over the theme park. Would Alicia like to take on a ride on the Ferris Wheel?

Alicia choked on her drink and went into a coughing fit. Melissa gave him a _look_ while pounding on her back, kneeling beside her on their blanket. Had he meant...? Please let him not have meant...

Her "sunburn" had just gotten very, very bad.

"What did I say?"

Melissa raised an eyebrow. "Ali, I think he actually doesn't know."

Alicia looked up at her, still coughing. _How_ could someone his age not know that? Still, that was a relief, to be sure.

"What don't I know?"

"All right, guy. Let's think about it for a moment," Melissa began, looking both amused and embarrassed at the need to explain it. "The Ferris Wheel compartments are big enough for two. No one else can look in after it gets going. The thing is big enough for one ride around to last about ten minutes." She paused. "Do you see where I'm going with this?"

"Yes," Regal replied, looking nearly as "sunburned" as Alicia. "And I honestly didn't know."

Alicia avoided looking at him by taking a few sips of her water. Her throat wasn't feeling good after all that coughing, after all.

"Good."

The three were quiet for a moment, the sea breeze ruffling their hair.

"Is there anything else I should know?"

Melissa seemed to consider this for a moment. "Ali's not riding in your bumper car."

"The bumper cars were taken out three years ago," Regal replied, calmly to the ignorant observer. Alicia thought he looked somewhat unsettled. Apparently, the bumper car comparison hadn't reached noble ears. It really just meant that Alicia wouldn't be getting into trouble with him and that Regal would make sure of it, even if they had to be apart for a little while.

"Ali's not riding in your bumper car," Melissa repeated, as if Alicia weren't sitting next to her.

"All right," Regal agreed, evidently finding no reason not to. "She's not riding in my bumper car." Alicia would have to explain it to him later, she decided.

"Right then," Melissa replied with a grin, standing up. It was as if that conversation hadn't just taken place. "Let's go make ourselves nauseous on the cups!"

Melissa was one of those people one loved despite themselves.

"What are you, Melissa?" Alicia asked in an attempt to lighten the mood, holding out a hand to be helped up. "Eighteen or eight?"

"Eight!" Melissa replied brightly, pulling her up.

"So much for you being older than me."

Together with a practiced ease, they folded up the blanket and put it in the empty cooler. It would be fine to leave it there; the cooler and the blanket were company property.

Now fairly dry, the girls pulled on skirts and Regal put his shirt back on. Not that Alicia was disappointed or anything.

It wasn't like she was going to forget that sight any time soon.

__

Dance in the Sunshine still flowing from the speakers, Alicia couldn't think of a more apt name for what this day was feeling like, on the whole. Walking over to the boarding station for the elemental railway, she laughed as Melissa looked pointedly to her left. When Regal looked questioningly at the two of them, Alicia explained.

"A long time ago, Melissa found a... What was it?"

"Rotting monster thing," Melissa clarified. "Right over there." Without looking, she pointed to their right, at the water outside of the roped off swimming area. "So gross." Melissa shuddered.

"She hasn't been able to look over there for as long as I've known her," Alicia added.

"You're just lucky you didn't see it," Melissa countered, an old debate starting up. "Even if it was before you came here, you're still lucky. Scarred me for life."

"I think I remember that incident," Regal said thoughtfully. "It had gotten hit by a boat and swam to land."

"That's what everyone said," Melissa agreed. "But it didn't really look like a sea monster. It was more humanoid, not like a fish or an octopus."

"That was about eight years ago, wasn't it?"

Alicia leaned back against the rail of the bridge, glad they were finally getting along. Suddenly, she had the thought of how it would go if she were to try to introduce him to Presea or her Daddy. It was much better to be amused by Melissa's retelling of her only horror story while they waited for the railcar. Despite claiming to have been "scarred for life", it was a topic she was more than willing to talk about.

"Yeah, I was ten, so around that time."

Alicia waited with a small smile, knowing all the details of the tale of terror that was about to commence. The innocent girl walking along over the bridge thought she heard someone say her name and looked down at this repulsive thing, flailing in the shallow water. It reached up with these huge claws, gurgling something that truly sounded too much like her name for comfort. It was hideous, looking as if it was trying to trash out of its very skin. Three globs that could only be eyes stared at her inhumanly as it reached out to her, trying to grab her, making that horrific sound...

Melissa didn't continue her story, though. Instead, she was looking to Regal, waiting for him to say something. Alicia followed her gaze.

Regal looked as if something had just occurred to him. He turned to her and asked her, "Alicia, didn't you say you came to work here when you were eight?"

He was breaking the rules: he wasn't supposed to know anything about her that she hadn't told him today. "Yeah," she replied, confused. "Oh, the train's here!"

She and Melissa had gone a few steps before noticing that Regal wasn't following, those heavy footsteps missing. Alicia turned to face him, Melissa refusing to look back.

Over the years, Alicia had seen people hit in the head with many things. Pots and pans had fallen off of their hooks and collided with the skulls of those below. A flipped pancake had been over-flipped to smack into the back of a head on more than one occasion. She was very familiar to the reactions various friends had when pelted with seaweed. She knew several dozen ways people reacted when seabirds left dropping on them. Alicia knew how some of those expressions felt, having been hit with pillows, having had cold water poured over her head, having had seaweed dropped on her.

As far as Alicia could tell, nothing physical had collided with Regal's head. There'd been no sound to indicated that anything had.

Yet there was an unmistakable look in his eyes, as if he was too surprised to do anything but allow whatever disgusting substance it was slowly trickle down the back of his neck.

"Alicia," Regal asked slowly, "how old are you?"


	11. Alicat

11/24/05

.-.-.-.-.-.

Taken out of context, it was a simple question, asking for a random detail. Taken out of context, it wasn't the most difficult question Alicia would ever have to answer. Taken out of context, it wasn't hurtful, and painful, and filled with dread.

In context, it meant that Regal didn't know how old she was.

Regal _didn't know._ He was supposed to have known. He was supposed to have a vague idea at the very least.

But he didn't know.

He was supposed to. Because, if he knew that she was that young and still wanted to be with her, then he had to love her. She knew his age, and she wanted to be with him due to that reason. And- and he had to know hers, so he could- so that he did...

Regal was staring at her, so very tall, still waiting for her to answer. A hand gripped Alicia's shoulder and squeezed, the gentle support of a friend. Couldn't Melissa say it? Couldn't they just drop the subject? Her throat wouldn't allow her to speak; her eyes wouldn't allow her to look away from the man standing before her. Every moment silent made it all so much worse, yet were she to answer...

If she could accept the age difference, then so could he. He cared for her, even if he didn't- if he didn't-

"I'm fourteen."

Instead of bracing herself, Alicia felt her body relax. She couldn't understand why. Melissa gave her shoulder another squeeze, but Alicia didn't look up at her.

This way, she didn't miss one nuance of Regal's reaction. This way, she would know for sure. This way, she wouldn't have to fight to look back at him, because if she looked away, she didn't think she could ever face him again.

It was a moment before he said anything, the sounds of the sea and the laughter of children resounding strangely in their ears. The sun shone, the waves splashed; the only notice the world took of them was how the happy tourists walked past them a little faster than they normally would have.

_No matter what, don't make a scene. Don't. Don't make people stare._

When Regal cut himself off from someone, guarded himself against someone, he truly looked the part of a noble. It was a man she had heard of and never seen who asked her one more question. It was not a person she knew.

"Do you know how old I am?"

He wanted her to say no, that was clear. No, she hadn't known that. She wouldn't have ignored that and placed him in a situation where he risked the humiliation and scorn of being viewed as a pedophile. She was better than that. She was ignorant.

She was a child.

"Yes."

Except that she knew. Except that she had. Except that she wasn't.

"...How old?"

She had one more chance. If she gave him the wrong number, he'd forgive her. He'd accept that, he would correct her, and then he would give her and apology and a good-bye.

Either way, the relationship was at an end.

"She didn't know."

Her friend's voice shocked Alicia into looking up at her. "Mel-"

"Not until after that stupid _event_," Melissa continued, her tone protective or offensive, depending on who heard it. "A friend told me, and I told Alicia. And we thought _you_ knew-"

Regal interrupted her. "Alicia. How old?"

Here was her last sliver of a chance. He would force himself to believe that Melissa's friend had told her the wrong number if Alicia told him one that was incorrect. Just one lie... Just one.

Alicia looked him in the eye and told him how old he was.

Duke Bryant and Alicia Combatir faced one another, separate from any support, separate from any sounds of joy, separate from a glorious day. But most of all, they stood separate from each other.

"...And you thought this was all right? Why would you..."

Did he think she was some sort of a fawning girl? A suck-up, a hanger-on? Alicia wasn't. She _wasn't_!

There was more anger than sadness when she said in reply: "Because I thought you loved me like how I love you."

There was something in Regal's mind that made him unable to accept this, and he proved as much a moment later. In that instant, he proved to be more of a noble than she had ever seen anyone be before. And had he stood there, dressed like one, and had he pulled off one glove, finger by finger, in the most deliberate and calculating manner possible, before proceeding to slap her across the face with it, he could not have hurt her more.

"You're a _child_."

...It was over.

It was done.

It was going to break her if she did not leave right now.

She found her voice, regained control of her body. A practiced tone with a practiced motion, she curtsied deeply and responded, "So you say, Master Bryant. Have I your permission to leave?"

"...You do."

Alicia turned, she walked away, and she left. There was a hand on her shoulder, and it was pushing her forward, tugging her where she needed to go. It kept her moving and kept her standing.

When it let her go, she was sitting down on her bed. It let go for a moment, and it was an arm when it returned. There was an arm hugging her, and there was a friend holding her. It was all right for the tears to come now.

But that was the only thing that was all right.

.-.-.-.-.-.

_"Life goes on, Ali-cat."_

It was a lesson she knew she had learned earlier than most. Losing a person hurt, more than anything else could. It wasn't fair, at all.

_"You're a big girl, so I'm going to tell you straight-out: it's hard."_

The first day after, Alicia woke up late. Pay-docked late. That was just great, wasn't it? Not only was she sunburned, dehydrated, and, oh yes, _rejected_, she was in trouble, too. Grumbling her Melissa-approved grouchy words, Alicia dressed as quickly as she could and discovered that she was a lot more sunburned than she'd thought. Her next discovery was a lot less painful.

There was a note tacked on the door.

There was a note.

A note for her.

A note.

Oh Martel. Oh thank Her, _thank_ Her! Everything was fine. Everything was great! Regal didn't hate her. Not at all. Smiling broadly and hopping slightly as she pulled on her other stocking, she ran over in her mind what it must say. She could practically see it.

_Dear Alicia,_

_I love you, and I want to make this work. I won't say that your age doesn't present a problem, but I can handle that challenge. If you'd prefer to wait until you're old enough, I'll support your decision, and I will wait for you. _

_I apologize for reacting so poorly yesterday. I had thought that you were eighteen, at the youngest. You don't look as if you were fourteen, and your maturity belies your age. I was taken completely by surprise. _

_If you can, meet me tonight at the usual place. There's much we need to talk about._

_Love,_

_The Rearranger_

Things would go back to how they were before. They'd be better, even. Yes, they would have to delay having a public relationship for a while longer, but every relationship had its hitches, didn't it? She and Regal would get through all of theirs. They were in love, after all.

On one level, it was frightening. On another, exhilarating. The thought of him was enough to make her emotions extreme and her heartbeat to pick up alarmingly. She wanted to be close to him, even if they weren't doing anything special, because just being with him was special. That she could cause the same reaction in him was... amazing. She wasn't anything remarkable, not like how Regal was.

Of course, there was no one like Regal. Not in all of Tethe'alla could a man be found like him.

Physically, Alicia still felt terrible, but as she took the note off of the door, she was happy, she was loved, and she was... switched to Melissa's dinner shift. Alicia would be also taking care of dessert and on clean-up crew.

_...and go back to bed, Ali. Scratch that, get something to eat and definitely something to drink, stay vertical for half an hour, and then go back to bed. I got you a nice block of wood if you want to whittle. Just don't forget to do it over the trashcan again. _

_I'll be back right after lunch. Take care, okay?_

Oh. So... he...

Oh.

Well.

That... That was...

Right, food. She should... eat. Or... something.

_"But you still have us. Your sister and I are here for you. Yes, just like how you're here for us."_

It took over a week to finish the figurine. It wasn't as good as anything Presea would have made, but it was still good enough for a gift.

"You like it?" Alicia asked sheepishly.

"Of course I do."

"Really?"

"It's adorable, Ali," Melissa replied, giving her a hug and a smile. "It's the best dog-bear-wolf thing anyone's ever made for me."

"It's the _only_ dog-bear-wolf thing anyone's ever made for you."

"Oh?" Melissa asked skeptically, raising an eyebrow. "And how would you know that?"

"'Cause I made the animal up while I was making it."

Truth be told, it was meant to be a bear. Melissa didn't need to know that, though. Alicia didn't need to have been doing the birthday custom all of her life to know not to point out the flaws of whatever gift she was giving.

"Oh, okay. What do you call it?"

_"Ali-cat? Shh... Daddy's here, Ali-cat... Don't you fret, don't you fret... Don't worry about crying on me. Go right ahead."_

She tried not to. She really did. Alicia wasn't the crying kind. She was the pick-herself-up-and-smile kind.

Yes, smiles couldn't last forever. It helped that they didn't need to. Hours, afternoons, half a day; that was how long they ever needed to last at a time. Alicia could last that long. She had to.

So she did.

The world had really flipped on her. Alicia was the one who coaxed Melissa through heartbreak and out of it. She was the shoulder to cry on, the bright energy that made others grin despite themselves. She was good at it. She had been good at it.

Now Melissa was. Melissa was the one who explained how Alicia had met a guy at the beach who she had really liked. It had been Ali's first, Melissa told all who asked, and it had been Ali's first rejection, too. Don't bring it up; don't pity the girl either. They knew her, she'd bounce back. It just might take a little longer than usual. And for Martel's sake, Rebecca, don't try to set her up with your son. Not that Robert was a bad guy, but that was the last thing Ali needed.

Alicia had stood there, just around the corner, completely silent. She wasn't supposed to hear Melissa saying all that. She wasn't supposed to know that everybody was going to be trying to cheer her up.

That was okay.

That was fine, really. It was actually a comfort, letting people know. Melissa would be her buffer.

Melissa would be the shoulder to cry on now. She would be the bright energy, the one who could coax others out of heartbreak.

Knowing that made her so relieved.

_"It hurts, I know. And I know that you'll miss Mommy..."_

Between her job, Melissa, and the number of people who she interacted with daily, Alicia's mind was seldom getting time to wander. She was lucky that way. The kitchen staff was like a huge, supportive, mismatched family. Cook could nearly be as protective of his workers as he was of his kitchen. Everyone from Annie "Maple" Janis, the woman who made the best pancakes the world had ever seen, to Sparticus Howell, the man who could make any dish look even better than it tasted (and that was saying something), was always willing to give her a smile and a few words.

But maybe it had always been like that. Maybe Alicia just hadn't realized until she had to really focus on work and her friends. She couldn't let her mind wander. Not yet. Eventually, maybe.

There would be a time where she didn't feel an empty space inside her whenever she reached inside her apron pocket. There had to be. She had to stop needing him. It was pointless. If he had meant to, he would have done something by now. He had his reasons, and Alicia had to admit that they were good ones.

The problem was how well she understood that.

_"...but you should always keep this in mind: Mommy loves you. I know that as she sleeps besides Martel, she dreams of you."_


	12. The past never remains in the past

12/31/05 There seems to be a fair bit of confusion regarding something in the end of the first scene of the last chapter. Regal did not actually slap, hit or strike Alicia in anyway. Alicia simply felt that he might as well have. I apologize if that wasn't immediately clear.

My, my little girl's growing. Less than a year ago, she was barely thirteen and didn't give a whit for romance. Ah, how things change. And considering how long this little baby's getting, I should've named him _Midnight Nine-Course Meal. _Okay, that's enough sentimentality from me.

**Disclaimer: **Rallalon does not own Tales of Symphonia. Nor does she own any of its characters, places or items.

.-.-.-.-.-.

"So what's the plan for today?"

Alicia shrugged, not thinking it mattered all that much. "Pass me the salt, would you?"

"Not until you tell me," Melissa insisted, crossing her arms over her chest.

Well, if she was going to be like _that_... "Roberto? Pass the salt? Thanks."

"Sure thing. Oh, and does the oven need to be hotter, or..." He trailed off, noticing Melissa glare at him.

"I wouldn't think so, no," Alicia replied after looking, ignoring her female friend.

"All right." Roberto gave one last glance at Melissa, then went back to work on the lasagna.

"Al-_leeeee_..." Melissa whined.

"Whaaaaat?" Alicia whined back.

"It's your birthday."

"So? It's been my birthday before."

Melissa rolled her eyes at the reply. "But you have to celebrate it like a normal person."

"I'm a normal person from Ozette."

"Alicia, when in Meltokio, do as the Meltokians do."

There was a great flaw in that logic. "We're not in Meltokio."

"That's not the point, Ali. The point is, it's your fifteenth birthday. You only get one of those."

"You only get one of any of them."

"That's the point."

"You've already said that. Taste this," she added, offering a spoon.

"Then I'll say that again—you're right, it does need more salt."

"Knew it."

Melissa looked calculating for a moment. "Oh, Roberto...?"

Despite having a year and half a head of height more than Melissa, he was still intimidated by her. "...Uh... Yes?"

"Shouldn't Ali do something for her birthday?" Melissa said, leaning towards him with a smile that could represent any number of intentions.

"Well, it's not my place to say... but, uh... sure. If she wants... I-I mean, yes, of course. Excuse me," the poor guy mumbled, suddenly finding something he needed to do at the far side of the kitchen.

Melissa turned back to Alicia to give her a look of victory.

"You're abusing your Roberto-scaring abilities," Alicia told her dryly.

Melissa shrugged with a grin. "Hey, if you've got it, use it."

"Meanie."

"Silly."

Both stuck out their tongues, making a noise best described as a "neyaaaa" noise.

There was a slight pause.

"...How did that running gag start?"

"Not a clue."

.-.-.-.-.-.

"Melissa, we _always _go to the beach," Alicia complained without any force. She didn't really mind, but Melissa had only half the day off. This could get her in trouble if she was late coming back. "What's so special about today? And don't tell me that it's my birthday party or something. Even I know there should be more than two people for that."

"Okay, I won't tell you."

"Meanie."

"Silly—Don't start _that_ again," Melissa interrupted herself.

Alicia laughed and got off the railway at their stop. "So the normal way of it? Beach, lunch, Ferris wheel, spinning cups, beach?"

"Actually, I've got a surprise planned out."

"You realize that you're not supposed to say that."

"It doesn't matter: you'll never guess." Her friend gave a pleased laugh. "Hell, _I_ can't believe how this worked out, and I planned it."

"You're going to drive me mad with guessing, is that it?"

"Just wait until I have to go back to work. Then you'll see."

"Fine..." Alicia replied, managing to sound put out for all of three seconds. She then spotted on the beach a pair of poles with two ropes stretched between them. "Oooh! Barrageball! Let's join in!"

"Attention span of a goldfish..."

"Yep!"

The pair was easily absorbed into the small yet growing teams. Hitting a head-sized ball back and forth between the two ropes, taking short breaks for swimming, the morning passed quickly. In an amazing display of Melissa being Melissa, they managed to get themselves treated to lunch by a young fellow who had yet to learn that Melissa was neither single nor a blue-blood.

But he could hope.

Hastily delivered excuses about previous social engagements got them away from his company in time for Melissa's surprise. Which it seemed they were actually early for. Maybe.

"Ali, what time is it?" the older teen asked as they stood in front of the hotel.

"I don't know."

"I know you don't know."

"Then why'd you ask?"

"...I'm _bored_."

After what felt like an hour of this, but was probably only ten minutes or so, the surprise appeared. However, it appeared in the form of an unexpected hug-from-behind, causing Alicia to react in a less-than-thrilled manner.

The offender brought his arms up to shield himself, laughing as he did so. Brown hair and a university uniform were apparent at a glance. "Hey! Hey, it's me! It's me!" He lowered his arms, a broad grin spreading across a once-familiar face. She paused for a moment, placing that recollection, then mentally aging the remembered seven or so years.

"Holy Martel, it _is_ you!" Alicia cried out and hugged the boy enthusiastically.

Horace laughed, a sound that she had nearly forgotten. "Now in what way do I resemble a goddess?"

Even as she slapped him playfully on the shoulder, Alicia couldn't stop grinning. "What are you doing here, Horace? And -" her eyes landed once more on the uniform "- you've really gotten into the university? And- and how did Melissa even manage to _find_ you?"

"_He_ found _me_," Melissa corrected. "But for the sake of this conversation, I'll take the credit."

"I knew you were here, so I asked around," Horace explained easily. "Well, last I heard, you were still here. Looks like there's some information that can last six years without needing to be corrected. You wouldn't believe how my professor – Professor Adien – drives me absolutely mad about that. If we know it's wrong now, why do I have to know it was right then? Anyway, he brought me here as his assistant for his trip here for – Angel feathers, I'm rambling aren't I? Whew." He took a deep breath and gave a small laugh. "I haven't been this excited in ages."

Melissa laughed as well, already walking off. "I'll leave you two be. Mind you, I'm not so much respecting your privacy as respecting the rules about pay and the suspension of it, but I'll still be off now. Happy Birthday, Ali," she added with a small wave.

"Bye!" Alicia called back before turning to her former neighbor. "Well, what do you want to do first?"

"Anything. Everything." Horace gestured about, getting as wrapped up as he had when he'd been a little boy. "Show me the city. Tell me what your life has been."

After a quick decision, they roamed the beach, only walking through the shallows due to Horace's uniform. He wanted to talk as much as she did and Alicia was left wondering why they didn't mind it that they kept talking over each other. Shouldn't it have been awkward? After all, it had been eight-year-old Alicia and six-year-old Horace who were friends. Yet now that he was here, Alicia felt as close to him as she'd been have a lifetime ago.

"Remember when you used to say you'd marry Presea?" Alicia brought up jokingly. "And she always wondered why I would call you my little brother?"

Horace winced. "_Every_ little boy dreams of marrying the babysitter, Alicat. As far as I know, my uncle's the only one who's actually managed it. But speaking of your sister, as we've already talked about mine way too much, do you know how she is? All that I've heard recently is that she's helping the university out with something for some extra gald, or something of the sort."

Alicia felt her eyebrows raise. "That's more than I've heard."

"Sieg hasn't written to you?" Horace asked, sounding equally surprised.

"You know how expensive it is, Ace. If Daddy had to send me out here to be sure that we wouldn't all go hungry..."

"I know, but still..."

Thankfully, the first depressing moment of their visit passed quickly. It was, of course, very difficult to be depressed on Spinny Cups followed by a roller coaster and a Ferris wheel ride. Alicia figured that a boy of thirteen wouldn't need to know some of the connotations that last ride had.

"My mouth hurts from all this smiling, but I can't stop it."

"I know, me too." Alicia stared at the window a little while longer, her gaze landing on a section of the bridge by the theater area that could easily make her smile fade. She looked back at Horace, realizing something "You know what's weird?"

"Many things. Which one do you mean?"

"I've been here since I was eight, and you're the first person close to my age I've really been friends with. And you're not even from here." With a best friend four years her senior and the majority of her collogues even older, had she started to act older as well? Could she have really passed for eighteen at thirteen?

And now she was fifteen. Dear Goddess, had it only been two years since it had all begun? And, since it had ended, almost a full year?

Horace looked like he was seriously debating whether to risk breaking the rule of standing and moving in the Ferris wheel car and causing, as far as he knew, a horrible death for the both of them. Her smile must have really faded and then some.

"Alicat... I... Well, you know that I never have the right words or anything. But... I mean, there are other student around my age and everything, but..." Horace trailed off and switched topics. "That girl, Melissa, right? She's your friend. And you've got other people. You've always been more mature, so it just makes sense that you'd go with an older crowd. And knowing you, you've probably got _lots_ of other people besides. I mean, the odds of you not having a boyfriend are—oh." He considered her small shake of the head for a moment. "Well, the point is..." He trailed off once more, pausing. "I'm here for you, just like how you always were for me when we were little. I'll _always_ be here for you. Even if I'm not _here-_here for you," he said, pointing out the window, "I'll be here-here." He tapped the general area of his heart with his fist. Continuing on but winding down, he mumbled, "Except, well, in your there-there, because I'm always in my here-here..."

At this, Alicia had to laugh. Trying so hard it was adorable, that was Horace. He'd always been such a sweet kid. It was good to know that sometimes never changed, even if things like height did. "Thanks."

He gave her a tentative smile, looking unsure of what exactly he had just said. "Anytime."

.-.-.-.-.-.

Many things in this world were widely accepted as terrifying. Falling through the Otherworldly Gate into the hell of Sylvarant, for example. Walking through the Gaoracchia Forest alone; that was another one.

Among those examples also rested this:

Being summoned to the office of El Presidente Senior.

"Combatir, what in the world did you _do_?" Cook asked her in complete bewilderment, having pulled her aside moments before. "Oh never mind," he continued, waving her off. "Just get up there. Quickly, girl."

True to those instructions, Alicia paused only long enough to remove her apron and mouth the ominous news across the kitchen to Melissa. Her friend's eyes widened and a look of greatest support was given in reply. As far as communication went, that was it.

When El Presidente called, the workers listened, and listened quickly.

That was why they had the staff use the elevator, Alicia supposed as the small lift brought her up the few levels. Besides just being faster, it gave people time to catch their breath. Whew... Alicia leaned against the wall and tried futily to calm herself down. There wasn't a long list of reasons why she'd be called up to _this_ office, or any for that matter. However, for this one, there was a reason that no other had.

_Don't be there... Please. Stay away from me. _

No matter what other conditions her heart might be in, it was sure beating fast.

_Ding!_

She could hear people talking in there. It was too muffled to make out the words, but... someone sounded angry, or defensive.

The doors opened, and Alicia stepped out nigh automatically, dropping into a curtsy with the unnerving ease which came to her when she was highly stressed. "I'm telling you, these results _are_ the current ones. If your Grace insists on seeing the subject in question --" She stared at the carpet and planned to continue until told to do otherwise.

"Ah. Miss Combatir, is it?" a gentle voice asked her a short moment later, the tense mood in the room relaxing slightly. Alicia stood normally and bobbed her head politely, her eyes going to and remaining on a gentlemen entering his later years. Finely dressed and sitting at the most prominent chair in the center of the office, Duke Bryant considered her, left hand half cupping his chin and his thumb resting on the end of a mustache that didn't look so ridiculous in person. "Come here, girl. Take a seat." The hand moved and waved at one of the small couches surrounding a finely carved table. At least, Alicia assumed it was finely carved. Under all the papers stacked on it, all she could make out for sure were the legs.

Something about his manner and the creases of his face reminded Alicia that this man hadn't always been a duke. For the first time, it wasn't anything to ridicule El Presidente for. Not at all.

If anything, it was a reason for respect. "Yes, your Grace." Somewhat stiffly, Alicia walked over and sat down next to the other occupant of the couch just as stiffly. The leather couch made the sound that only a leather couch being sat on could make. Knees together, skirt smooth, she clasped her hands together on her lap, sitting as straight as she knew how.

The quickest of glances showed her that there was only one man with blue hair in the room. A relief or a disappointment, it took a fair amount of stress out of her.

The man next to her was obviously even older then El Presidente. His clothing reminded her of Horace's uniform. Was this his professor? Across from them sat a large man who looked as if he had wanted to have a mohawk and a topknot at the same time, thus explaining the tuft of brown hair sticking up from the top of his head.

"Miss Combatir, this is Professor Adien and Peter Vharley, our Exsphere broker."

"Good day, professor, sir," Alicia heard herself say quietly.

"Professor, continue."

Professor Adien cleared his throat and picked up a few of the papers on the table, speaking as he went through them. "Miss Combatir, for the past few years – How many years _has_ it been, Vharley?"

"Over six," he replied, leaning back and completely at ease. He took up so much of that couch that it was no wonder why Alicia had been told to sit with the other man.

"Yes, yes, six. Your sister has been aiding us with Exsphere research. I can't give you the exact details, but rest assured, what she's doing is important. Now..." The professor trailed off, looking through a folder, pulling out several pictures. He shuffled through them quickly and the only detail that stuck in Alicia's mind was that all were of women and girls. "Ah, here we are. This is a picture of your sister, yes?" He handed it to her.

The girl in the picture was a young one, twelve or so. Her expression was blank, but she was, as always to Alicia's eyes, beautiful. "An old one, yes." They must have realized that Alicia might not recognize an up-to-date picture.

The professor turned slightly to look at El Presidente. Due to Alicia's position on the other side of him, she wasn't able to see what his expression was. El Presidente, however, looked a bit surprised. There wasn't much of a way to tell, but the slight widening of the eyes, how he leaned forward like that, the stiffness of the shoulders...

No. No thinking about him. So what if they were similar?

Whatever moment the pair had been sharing, it ended soon enough, Professor Adien continuing to speak. "Thank you for that. We had to be sure that you were the right Combatir; we've found several. So yes, your younger sister has--"

"Excuse me, professor?"

He stopped neatly, almost as if expecting another interupption. The poor man must have been horrible at giving lectures.

"Presea is my older sister. By two years, give or take a month or so."

Again, the professor turned to the duke. The surprise had turned to slight confusion or speculation, if Alicia was reading him right.

"Of course, my apologies." Professor Adien pushed his glasses further up his nose using his middle finger, squinting at his papers. "To get to the point, Presea is doing so well aiding our research that there are those of us at the academy hoping that you could be presuaded to help us as well." He pulled out a folder, checked the heading on it and handed it to her. "It's nothing like taking an additional job, though of course you will be paid a reasonable amount, depending on the degree of your success. Any questions?"

That was fairly obvious. It was the main detail he was leaving out. "What would I have to do? And what exactly would I be helping you research?"

"Oh, yes, yes, of course. You see, we're trying to make _better_ Exspheres. Stronger, more powerful, you get the drift. There are certain people who, when equiped with an Exsphere – no not like how you equip a carriage with one, there's a difference here – cause the Expshere to develop." He took out the picture of Presea once more and pointed to the strange necklace she was wearing. "Your sister has been giving us the best results so far. You can see the path our thought took in requesting your cooperation."

Well, it didn't sound so bad so far... "Are there any side effects?"

The professor cleared his throat once more. "There are a few people who reject the Exsphere after a time, but what with your sister carrying one for half a dozen years, you needn't worry about that. As for the other side effects... Irritability or apathy, depending on the individual. Some have had... growth spurts and a strange rash, nothing to be that worried about. Most notice an increase in their physical and mental abilities; nothing bad there. A few have had minor insomnia problems, but that's assumed to be unrelated. Let's see, what else... Ah yes, yes--"

_Ding!_

Oh Martel no. Even while keeping her gaze glued to the green folder in her hands, Alicia couldn't block out those footsteps.

Couldn't block out their sudden stop.

"You're late again, Regal."

There was the slightest of pauses and Alicia felt her face grow hot.

"My apologies, Father."


	13. Rain and Clear Skies

2/16/06

Happy Birthday, _Midnight_ _Snack_.

**Disclaimer: **Rallalon does not own Tales of Symphonia. Nor does she own any of its characters, places or items.

.-.-.-.-.-.

There being no remaining seats, he stood beside his father, inescapably in her line of sight no matter who Alicia looked at. To be honest, there was nowhere in the room he could have sat or stood where she would've have seen him, save behind her.

Alicia would definitely have freaked out more, had he stood there.

"What have I missed?" the younger Bryant asked the older.

"It would seem that the findings of our friends are authentic," the duke replied, studying Vharley instead of looking at his son.

Even without looking at him directly, it was clear Regal was extremely perturbed. Vharley and the professor showed no sign of taking notice. "We know this?"

"As I have said before, if you doubt, you can witness the results yourself," Adien insisted. "I assure Your Grace that this project is worth supporting, in both terms of funding and volunteers."

"So you assured His Grace a decade ago," Regal countered smoothly. "We've yet to see any concrete proof."

"Our progress --"

"Has yet to produce an improved Exsphere," El Presidente Senior interrupted, his tone taking on an impatient edge.

"Duke Bryant," Vharley began, "if I am not needed here, I must be going. I assume that bringing this matter to your attention..."

"Is irritating, but acceptable. Don't do it again." It was much the same tone he had used to greet Regal, if somewhat more severe. "Feel free to excuse yourself."

The fat man did so and Regal took his seat. Resisting the urge to nervously make sure her pigtails were still in order, Alicia immediately resumed looking through her folder. She couldn't let him see how much he still mattered to her, couldn't give him back the ability to rule her emotions.

In the meanwhile, the professor continued. "We've found that our best results have come from those closely related." He turned to Alicia with a pleasant expression. "This being the case--"

"No."

Alicia was so startled at his tone that she actually looked at him. And then she blinked. Regal had gone from calm to threatening within seconds. Firm, commanding, and just short of glaring at Professor Adien, he was downright hostile. Sitting next to the object of that hostility was not a place Alicia wanted to be at that moment.

Or ever again, for that matter.

"Your program has received funding and a volunteers in the past," Regal went on. "Our company has received in turn empty promises and apologies for the death of an employee. Another such exchange will _not_ take place."

Despite looking reasonably cowed, the old man didn't stop arguing his case. "Pardon my saying, but the program was under a different administrator at that time."

"We will," El Presidente replied. He didn't sound impatient now, just tired with this business. "However, until you can convince us that we do not face similar risks as in our previous venture..."

"I assure Your Grace that the process has been greatly improved upon, and I am certain that he recalls the death of Miss Julia Gallo to have been declared a suicide," Adien replied just as smoothly.

_A _suicide_? Julia Gallo... Julia Gallo... Where have I heard that name before?_ Alicia couldn't recall a face for the life of her. Maybe it had been someone she'd only heard about. The last name was more familiar than the first. Did she know anyone called Gallo? She had the irritating feeling that this was something that she was supposed to know.

The professor continued as Alicia pondered. "The process changes and the volunteer would be a completely different person with, as I've been informed, a brighter and more resilient personality. The risks are much smaller and the potential gains much greater."

_Did Melissa mention her once? Angel feathers, I know I know that name from _some_where... _Wondering about this was far better than focusing on where she was, or thinking about what would have happened had Adien been the one to leave.

The Bryants spoke on top of each other, one slowly stating, "This will be taken into consideration", the other stressing "The answer is no." The older looked at the younger who refused to look back. The front they were displaying was not a united one, and even Alicia knew that it looked bad.

Three main facts had been learned today. First, Exsphere experimentation was much more dangerous than it was presented as being. Second, Presea might be in trouble. Third, it was possible to really tick Regal off.

Was he angry because he thought her threatened? Or would he act the same for anyone? Much could change in a year, even Regal's patience.

Though that would be pushing it.

And why had he arrived late? Had he simply been doing something else, or had he been trying to avoid her? Or had he been trying to make things more comfortable by allowing her to get used to the three already in the room before adding the complication of himself?

Or had he simply not known she would be there? Had he known and tried to make it seem -- or make it clear -- he didn't care?

Of course, the danger about thinking about a person while that person was in the same room, was that the one thinking tended to end up staring at the one thought about. In turn, the one thought about would usually stare back at the thinker out of confusion, irritation, or something else that could fit into that situation. The thinker would realize with a sickening lurch of the stomach what was going on and would usually look away out of embarrassment. As clearly shown in the present situation.

Alicia refused to drop her gaze, though she tried to make it as casual as possible. In short, not very.

Regal had always had more than one way of looking at her. There was the approving look, the amused look, the look that meant she was supposed to ignore something, the curious look, the half a dozen looks that made it very hard not to be touching him in some way, the puzzled look, and so on. This one was more of a "What are you doing? What are you trying to do?" look.

Eventually, he glanced to the man sitting next to her and back, then did so again. Alicia realized belatedly that the professor had been talking. "—without Your Grace's leave to do so. Miss Combatir," he said, turning his head to look at her, "our offer stands to you and will for several years, I would imagine. You have information on how to contact me when you do accept." Both Regal and the professor glanced to the folder.

"Would I be able to speak with my sister about it before making any decision, professor?" she asked quietly and politely, the generic voice of a servant. Accepting was unlikely, but a chance to talk to Presea was a chance to talk to Presea.

Adien blinked and paused for a moment. "Perhaps it would be best if you consulted with someone... unbiased."

Alicia nodded as if that was a real answer.

Professor Adien smiled, saying, "There's a good lass."

Regal tensed.

El Presidente gave no sign of noticing anything unusual and said, "If that's all, you'd best be moving, Adien. I've several other matters requiring my attention _today_, or George will never let me hear the end of it. Regal can accompany you out. Miss Combatir, you're dismissed as well."

Alicia rose quickly, folder in one hand, and curtsied. All she had to do was make it to the elevator, she told herself. If she made it to the elevator, she could leave and she'd be safe. She had completely forgotten to reckon with the nature of elevators and the nature of a human's inability to wait for another one when there was already one there.

Professor Adien was the last person she would have thought she'd be glad to be in an elevator with. All unwanted feelings toward the third member of the group could be pushed off in exchange for wondering about the intentions of the second for the short ride. The relief Alicia felt when the doors opened was infinite.

As was the terror she felt once it was clear Regal wasn't following the exiting professor.

The idea of claiming some errand on this floor, of going after the professor to ask about Horace, of doing anything never crossed her mind until very short good-byes had been made and the doors closed once more. Alicia had thought a lot about Regal. She had just never thought of lying to him.

The doors closed. Alicia remained turned towards them, Regal behind her at the controls of the elevator. Too close. She refused to look at him.

Regal immediately began making use of the time the short trip offered. "Don't do it. If you accept, you give them control over you. If they insist you go to the academy, you would have to. No matter what Adien says, you can't know how the Exsphere will affect you."

"I wasn't going to." Alicia was surprised to find that she had no trouble speaking.

"That was not how you made it appear," his words said. "Liar," his tone called her.

"It never hurts to be polite, Mister Bryant." She hadn't seen the insult until after she'd said it, but she wasn't exactly compelled to amend her statement. "I was hoping I'd be able to see my sister and then decline. If they're not going to allow me _any_ contact with her, then she has to be in trouble. If she's in trouble, then it's from the experiments, and if that's the case, I would have to be some sort of oblivious child to accept." She didn't feel compelled to amend that statement either.

"All the so-called proof they've offered us is based on your sister. If they don't want anyone here coming into contact with her, they must be lying about their results." No one had ever made Alicia feel so stupid with just two sentences. Regal seemed to know it, too.

A thousand daydreams, a hundred different scenarios, millions of possible things to say: Alicia had thought of practically every situation they would see each other again. If he wanted her back, she knew what to say. If he just wanted to be friends, she knew what to say. If he wanted nothing from her, she knew what to say. If he was angry with her, she knew what not to say.

Alicia made no reply, having never considered arguing over Exspheres and her sister in a small elevator.

"That being the case, it's likely that she's fine."

She wouldn't show him how much of a relief it was to hear him say that. "What are they claiming?" If they could stay on this topic for three more seconds...

"Increases in strength, mental ability, and longevity for your sister. A change in color for the Exsphere."

"...Longevity?" How could they measure that before Presea was old? A seventeen-year-old didn't look much different from a girl a year or two younger.

The elevator stopped, arriving at Alicia's floor. The doors didn't open.

"She supposedly hasn't aged since they put the Exsphere on her. I believe that's the main reason for not allowing you contact. You would be able to tell right away if they presented a younger substitute, after all," Regal explained, standing by the controls.

Now she knew why she had been called to come up. However, now she wanted to know why she wasn't being allowed to go down.

"I see. If that's all, Mister Bryant..."

"It's not."

Alicia had assumed that by the doors still being closed. Working the controls of these elevators tended to become second nature to those who used them. Simply forgetting to open the doors was unlikely.

"Alicia, look at me."

_The sooner I get this over with, the sooner I can go_. She did as she was told. This was too cruel. To look him in the eyes and know that even a year later, he could still cause such a reaction in her. To look him in the eyes and know that she would never do the same to him.

His face hadn't changed and his hair was in roughly the same state it always was in. He was still a well-dressed noble. He was still too tall and too handsome for his own good. But those eyes... Where had that welcoming blue gone, the warm color that invited her to talk with him, to be with him? Cool manners had replaced the welcome, restraint usurped the affection, and complete seriousness supplanted the encouraging smile. Yet those were the same eyes.

That there had been no physical change to reflect the emotional was strangely disturbing.

Tense and holding onto control, Regal began to speak. "I do care for you, Alicia, but you must see how I cannot care for you in that way. You are far too young. I don't wish to hurt you by saying that. It's simply how things are."

She could have said, "And are you saying that you never did care that way? That's not how you acted."

She could have said, "Then why has it taken you a year to tell me this?"

She could have said, "I don't care. Just let me out of here."

But that would have been Alicia to her Rearranger.

"I understand, Mister Bryant," Miss Combatir replied.

"...Don't do that," he told her quietly.

She blinked. "Do what?"

"We're not in public. Don't call me that."

Just like that, Alicia had found a weakness. And as much as she wanted him to love her, Alicia had built up a great deal of anger towards him. "Your name is not an insult, sir. I have never insulted you." She left no question in her tone about whether it was so the other way around.

"_Manners are the shield and sword of a Lady, guarding and cutting at once."_ Some old sayings really were true.

"If you're not going to be mature about this..." He trailed off, realizing that there had been no immaturity from her. Alicia forced herself to hold his gaze and held back the tears which would only allow themselves to be postponed. Regal's expression changed subtly, the man obviously realizing that not wishing to hurt her didn't equal up to not hurting her. "...I..."

She looked away. When she'd been awkward with him in the past, she had always looked at his shoes, she remembered. She wasn't awkward now. She was rejecting.

Alicia refused to look directly at Regal, but was still very much aware of him. She couldn't not be. Regal took a step forward in the small elevator, getting too close for coherent thought. In the same motion, his right hand began to rise, began to reach out to her.

Wide-eyed, she stared.

The distance halfway crossed, Regal blinked before glancing to his hand and back to her. He hadn't realized what he'd been doing. His hand had started to shake. That had never happened before.

A year ago, he would have touched her cheek, guiding her head back. She would have held onto him, her arms under his, her hands on his shoulders. His other hand would have rested on the small of her back, his arm around her, pulling her closer. She would have smiled at him and turned her face in just the right way. He would have made her feel things that only he could make her feel. Without words, she would have told him how much she loved him. They would have had a perfect moment, or several. Each of those perfect moments with Regal was different, but all began the same way.

He would reach out to her, and he would touch her face.

Regal had started to. Regal had starting to without even realizing it.

There would come a day when knowing how much she wanted him to finish doing so wouldn't frighten her. This was not that day. She wasn't supposed to want to be with him this much, not anymore.

"_I do care for you, Alicia, but you must see how I cannot care for you in that way."_

The pair stared at each other, neither moving.

"_...I cannot care for you..."_

Alicia looked into the eyes of a man trying to convince himself that he was seeing a child.

"_I do care for you, Alicia..."_

Alicia saw the man fail.

"_I do care..."_

Without looking away, Regal reached back for the elevator controls and opened the doors.

"_...care for you in that way."_

Without looking away, Alicia stepped back, her shoulder hitting the doorframe on the way out.

"_...but you must see how I..._"

Alicia turned and left, as quickly as she could.

"…_cannot._"

The doors shut.

.-.-.-.-.-.

Roberto the Melissa-Frightened found her a few minutes later, leaning against a wall with her eyes closed tight. Alicia was most definitely Not Crying.

Alicia informed Roberto of this.

Roberto stated that he was sure this was the case.

Alicia informed Roberto that she was slightly less sure.

Roberto inquired as to whether Alicia would care for a hug.

Alicia shook her head, then nodded.

Roberto very awkwardly stood through several minutes of being placed in the role of big brother, patting a crying girl on the back gently.

Alicia apologized.

Roberto was suitably confused as to what she was apologizing about.

Alicia agreed that nothing had happened that required apologizing for.

"After all," Roberto told her, "it's not as if you can made it rain inside on command."

Alicia sniffled slightly. "...rain?"

Roberto pointed to a wet spot on his uniform. "Rain."

Alicia smiled. Weakly, but she smiled.


	14. Maybe

4/15/06 Since early February, my main focus in the realm of writing has gone back towards original fiction, finally making it past the planning stage and going into the write-until-my-eyes-don't-focus-on-the-screen stage. However, by no means I have lost interest in _Midnight Snack_. It just means that I have a whopping amount of stuff to write and I'm loving every minute of it. On the plus side, I've been learning a lot about my writing style, namely about what I most love to write:

Relationships.

There is nothing more satisfying to write than a good, believable relationship between good, believable characters. I hope I've been doing a decent job of it so far and I will continue to do my best.

**Disclaimer: **Rallalon does not own Tales of Symphonia, nor does she own any of its characters, places or items.

.-.-.-.-.-.

"And he almost...?"

"Yeah."

"He was seriously going to?"

"I really think he was. I don't know why..."

"Oh, come on. We all know why."

"...Well, I guess..."

"...What would you have done?"

"Probably told him he could go take that soup and wash his ears out with it. Martel, some people are idiotic to the extreme."

It was at times remarkable to Alicia how many gossip-rich conversations went on in the kitchen that sounded exactly how Alicia imagined the talk she and Melissa might have that night would. While Roberto had made sure that she washed her face before returning to the kitchen, Alicia had seen him telling something to Melissa quietly.

Thankfully, Roberto hadn't asked her anything about why she'd been -- why it had been raining. Also thankfully, the odds that he would ask Melissa for any possibilities were tiny. Roberto was great in how he would either know not to pry or just be too afraid to.

Melissa, however, was lacking in that, and Alicia didn't want to talk to anyone about it until she knew how she felt about the whole thing.

And what had he been trying to say in the first place? The scaring her away from the Exsphere research could've been anything from concern to an unwillingness to agree to anything Adien asked of him. Everything after that... Calling him "Mister Bryant" had fully derailed the conversation from whatever track Regal had wanted it on.

Alicia hated not knowing things. It gave her a tendency to over-think everything.

"Hey, Ali. I was wondering--"

"Who was Julia Gallo?" Alicia interrupted.

Melissa and two other kitchen workers paused at the name. They all glanced about.

Rebecca Higwen, Roberto's mother, was first to respond, though not in any helpful way. "You've never heard about Julia before?"

"'Course she hasn't," Annie Janis countered. "Julia was before her time. How many years? Two, three?"

"Two," Melissa supplied. "It was a little before I found that... thing under the bridge by the rail." She shuddered, and Alicia managed to keep a straight face. What a silly story. "Her death, that is. They took her to the academy a few months earlier than that."

"Right." Annie nodded to herself. "So what was it that you wanted to know about Julia?"

"Well," Alicia began, "she came up in conversation, that's all. I'm not used to not knowing who people are around here."

Rebecca raised an eyebrow. "In a conversation with who?"

Melissa nudged her in the side. "Let's not gossip, shall we? Julia was one of the workers here. Not kitchen staff or cleaning crew, but a secretary, I think."

"Yes, for one of the executives in the mine division," Annie agreed. That was good to know, but not what she was interested in. "Melissa, aren't you and Rebecca supposed to be--"

"Oh, right. Going."

Alicia chuckled a little. "So what happened to her? And why did she..." There went _that_ little bit of cheer.

There really was no tactful way of bringing that up, was there?

"You know that she volunteered for the Exsphere experiments, right? The Exsphere is supposed to improve the human body as it develops, I think. That's why she wanted to give it a try," Annie explained.

"Did she have a weak body, or something?"

The older woman shook her head. "Not exactly. You know how some woman have difficulties having children, yes? The Gallos had been trying for a long while, but nothing ever came of it. They could have taken in one of the orphans of the Papal Knights, but..."

"But Julia wanted to have a child of her own," Alicia finished.

"You've no idea how much. And so when she went to the academy and was told that even with the Exsphere she couldn't... That was it."

Neither spoke for a good long while.

Alicia swallowed, tentative and not sure she wanted to know. "What happened to the husband?"

"I suppose you could say he's very protective of what he has left." Annie glanced around the kitchen once more, then looked back to her work quickly.

Alicia looked around, trying to see where exactly the other's gaze had gone.

...Oh.

Oh.

Well then.

...That explained a lot.

"So it wasn't the Exsphere that made her...?"

"If anything, I think the hope it gave her made her hold out longer."

That was a relief. Presea wasn't in trouble, then.

Annie continued, "It's a good guess that the fuss over the Exsphere is mostly company politics. It makes me sick. That poor woman. No peace, and if anyone deserved some, it was her."

She trailed off and didn't speak up again.

.-.-.-.-.-.

"Up to something, Combatir? It's unlike you."

"Wuh – oh, no, sir! Why would you think that?"

"Besides how you've been glancing at me every other second all morning?"

"I wuh?"

"It's disconcerting."

"Sorry, sir."

"So. Your reason?"

"...uh..."

"'Uh'?"

"...What does it say on your shirt, sir?"

"'Don't make me poison your meal'."

"...Oh."

"That was it?"

"Yeah, sorry about that, sir."

"Just come out and ask next time, Combatir."

"Sure thing, Cook."

.-.-.-.-.-.

Some days were so long that time couldn't be summed up in hours. This was one of those days. Getting called up to El Presidente's office, the Exsphere, Regal, Cook Gallo... It all made for one impossibly lengthy day.

"Sleeeeeeep..."

Melissa attempted to tug her pillow away and failed miserably. Finally, she settled for sitting in the middle of Alicia's bed. "Ali, come on, spill it. What happened up there?"

"Exsphere experiments," Alicia mumbled into her pillow. "Nothing important."

"...Say that again?"

She rolled over onto her back. "Horace's professor wanted to know some stuff about my sis and if I wanted to be experimented on." Alicia made a face to show how likely that was.

"So he didn't show?"

Alicia couldn't even pretend to be confused about who Melissa was talking about.

"Well, actually..." she trailed off, staring at the ceiling.

"Martel above, Ali! What happened?"

Giving in and sitting up, Alicia told her everything, as close to the exact wording as she could remember. Never the best of storytellers, she jumped forward to the elevator ride before she mentioned Regal being late and the pair kept coming back to that one instant. The Julia Gallo issue was mulled over for a while as well, concerns for Presea rising and falling as it became clear how little either of the two knew about Exspheres. The folder Professor Adien had given her hadn't helped much, if at all.

The entire story told and dissected more thoroughly than Alicia had thought possible, Melissa considered things for a moment with a thoughtful expression. "What would you have done?"

"Done when?" Alicia asked, taking out her pigtails. The whole mess was starting to give her a headache and having her hair pulled back tightly wasn't going to help anything.

"If he had kissed you," Melissa clarified. "What would you have done?"

Sitting cross-legged on her bed, holding her pillow, Alicia looked down at the bedspread, toying with her hair tie. "I..." She'd been thinking about that. She'd been thinking about that a lot. She'd been thinking about how sweet it would be to be held once more, to taste that taste, to drink in his scent. She'd been thinking about how badly she would have needed to shove him away, to yell that he had already made his choice, to curse him for all the pain and worry he'd caused her. Yet after all that thinking... "I don't know."

"It's been over a year already. Aren't you..." Melissa paused, frowning. "Well, aren't you over him?"

Alicia startled, looking up at her friend.

"You've got your own life, and you're doing fine with it. And as for guys, that Horace is crazy about you. He's probably been for a while now. I don't think Roberto would be against the idea of being more than friends, either. Just, you know, not at the same time," she added with a slight grin. That grin didn't last long.

Alicia could only stare at her. "_Horace_? That kid's like my little brother! And- and _Roberto_? Roberto is, he's what? Twenty? I don't care how 'adorable' his mother thinks we would be together: he's _way_ too old for me."

Melissa stared back at her, gaping slightly. Alicia then fully realized the implications of what she'd just said.

Roberto Higwen was nearly three years younger than Regal Bryant.

She felt sick inside. If she admitted that five years older was too old, what did that make seven and a half, practically eight? She wasn't being disloyal to anyone by saying that. To be disloyal, a person had to need to be loyal, didn't they? Alicia didn't need to be loyal, to be faithful. She didn't. She didn't want...

She would have kissed him back. She would have clasped her hands behind his neck and felt his hair between her fingers. She would have closed her eyes and opened her mouth against his. She would have invited him back into her life, back into her heart. She would have begged for his love.

If only he had kissed her.

No. She would have slapped him. Or hit him. And then she would have been thrown in prison for assaulting a noble, but that was beside the point.

Fine, maybe it wasn't. Maybe she didn't know what the point really was. Maybe she didn't want to know. Maybe... No, not maybe.

She hadn't wanted Roberto to be the one to comfort her. She hadn't wanted to need comforting in the first place. She hadn't wanted Regal to stay with her, but then she didn't want to leave him. She didn't want... So many things had happened that Alicia didn't want.

Alicia wanted...

She wanted...

She didn't know what she wanted. Not exactly, anyway. All that she was sure was that it had something to do with Regal, love, and being held when she was crying.

The first, she didn't have. The second, she had a different kind of. But the third, that one she had.

"I'm sorry, Ali... I'm so sorry..."

.-.-.-.-.-.

"You know, I really hate good-byes," Horace admitted, hands in his pockets.

"Same here," Alicia agreed. "Well, first times the hardest, right?"

He laughed and immediately sobered. The two looked at each other for a long moment and hugged for a longer one. "Whoever said that never had to say good-bye twice," Horace told her, holding tight.

Alicia tried her best not to sniffle. "If- if you see my sister, tell her I love her, all right?"

"Yeah. Sure thing. Same goes for my sis, too."

"And I'll see you before I'm twenty or something."

"You'd better count on it."

"Promise."

"Promise."

The long hug ended and the pair hooked thumbs as if they were children again, saying in unison, "Promise, promise, Ozette tree. Bring back, bring back, my hope to me."

Awkward smiles were exchanged, both knowing they should have out-grown such rhymes long ago. Alicia didn't really care. This was the little brother she had never had and she was going to miss him more than she had realized she would.

Horace started to walk away and turned back, looking at her questioningly. "You think you're ever going to go back home?"

"...I think I'm already home."

"Yeah," Horace said. "I think you are."

"Go home, Ace."

"That's where I'm headed, Alicat." He looked as if he were about to say something else, but seemed to think better – or worse – of it. Alicia nearly asked, nearly addressed the fear Melissa had unwittingly placed inside of her.

She didn't.

Later, after she had dashed back to the kitchen without having eaten a bite during her lunch break, after the workday was over, after the lights were out and Melissa was fast asleep, Alicia was made to wonder.

If she had thought herself an adult before, what was she now?


End file.
